


Born on the Fourth of July

by PennyLane



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 22:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennyLane/pseuds/PennyLane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s America’s Bicentennial and the celebration is going to be epic. Despite England’s bouts of ill health he suffers during this time of the year, he knows his duty, and his duty is to attend the festivities and play his part. But this celebration doesn’t turn out as either America or England thought it would. (Set during America’s Bi-Centennial, 1976)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born on the Fourth of July

Arthur Kirkland checked his briefcase one last time to make sure he had everything packed that he was going to need, then gave a longing glance around his cozy, familiar, quiet front room, and heaved a sigh. There was no putting it off any longer. He had only one last appointment, and then he’d be getting on a plane for the United States to fulfill a commitment made on his behalf years ago. His fairies hovered around him anxiously, easily picking up on his distress, and he smiled, soothing them with gentle words.

A brisk knock sounded on his front door, and he slipped out the pocket watch he’d carried since 1854, looking at the face and humming in approval. One would expect a driver sent by the Queen to be on time, but still, it didn’t hurt to check, and the watch did keep perfect time. He’d told her he was perfectly capable of driving to Windsor himself, but she insisted. Just as she’d insisted on providing the royal jet for him to make his flight to the States. It felt ridiculously like molly-coddling to him, but could admit to himself that he would appreciate the solitude and discreet service on the jet as opposed to flying on a public flight. With one last, yearning look at his sanctuary, and a fond farewell to the fairies, he went to answer the door.

 

Despite the quiet and the comforts of the private jet, Arthur had gotten precious little rest on the journey from London to Washington DC. The headache that had begun during his tea with the Queen – bad timing, but he had no control over it, and she, of course, had noticed he was in pain - had gotten progressively worse over the course of the flight, and then suddenly settled down to a dull ache right before landing. It was always so bloody unpredictable. But it meant he hadn’t really slept, and now he was feeling groggy and a bit disoriented as he stepped off the plane and walked into the terminal. He expected to see a driver waiting for him. What he had not expected to see was Alfred F. Jones lounging against a wall, all long legs and sun-kissed hair and bright blue eyes. From sea to shining sea. As soon as America spotted him, he raised his arm and waved to get his attention.

The waving hand was unnecessary, Arthur thought distractedly. There really was no way to overlook America. 

“Hey, Arthur.” Alfred trotted over to join him, an uncertain smile on his face. He was dressed nicely for a change, in a crisp, casual shirt and chinos instead of jeans, as if he’d made an effort, which surprised Arthur. He had learned long ago that America didn’t care what anyone else thought of his fashion choices, especially not Arthur Kirkland, and when given the option, he always dressed to be comfortable, and was happiest when his clothes were soft and worn, even if that meant wrinkled and torn.

“Alfred.” Arthur gave his head a little shake, trying to jog his memory. Had he expected Alfred to meet him?

“Surprise?” Alfred offered, still looking uncharacteristically tentative. “I’m here to pick you up. Hang on a sec.” He jogged over to where a crew member was carrying his rather heavy suitcase, and Alfred took it easily, loping back to join Arthur. “My car’s just over here,” he said, and led the way.

Arthur’s tired brain was still trying to play catch-up, and he said, “You didn’t have to –“

“Oh, sure did,” Alfred said over his shoulder, which made no sense at all. 

Arthur sighed and followed the taller nation, feeling awkward and off-kilter by America’s unexpected appearance. He had been to the States many, many times, of course, and Alfred had often showed up at the airport to pick him up as a courtesy, but there was no getting past the fact that this was the first time in two hundred years that he had come to attend America’s birthday party, even though he had been invited many times in the past. The fact that he was only here this year because he’d been _ordered_ to be here was something Alfred would know, and perhaps resent. Well, there wasn’t anything he could do about that. Once Alfred dropped him off at his hotel they would only have to see each other at official events, and that would be best, for many reasons.

“Here we are.” Alfred stopped at a shiny red sports car (Mustang, it said on the boot) and stowed Arthur’s bag before turning to look at him. He had his mouth open to say something, but closed it and frowned a little as he apparently got a good look at Arthur. “Did you have a rough flight or something?” 

“No, it was fine. Why?”

“It’s just, you kinda look like crap.” There was a flicker of something that might be concern in Alfred’s eyes, but it was gone too quickly for Arthur to be sure. He decided it was more likely mockery.

“Thank you, Alfred,” he said stiffly. “I didn’t sleep well. So perhaps we can get to my hotel?” Without waiting for a reply, he opened the passenger side door, climbed inside, and slammed it soundly.

Alfred slid smoothly into the driver’s side and pointedly closed his door a lot more gently. “Not going to a hotel.” He didn’t look at Arthur, fiddling with his seat beat and keys instead. “You’re staying with me.”

Arthur, who was rubbing his temple, turned his head so fast he actually winced. “What? “

Alfred held his hands up to stop the barrage of words that he obviously expected. “Hey, don’t blame me. My boss called me today and told me plans had changed and you’d be staying with me.”

“That’s absurd,” he snapped. “Take me to the hotel. I’ll get it straightened out later.”

“It’s already been straightened out,” Alfred said in a way that indicated he was striving for patience. “I’ve got my orders, and I’m taking you to my place.” He started the car and began backing out of his parking space. “I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this. You are kind of a special guest, what with…our whole history and everything, and you’ve stayed at my place plenty of times in the past.”

“That was different,” Arthur retorted, trying not to sound as unsettled as he felt. “I’ll be here for a long time. I just… I don’t want to impose.” 

Alfred shrugged, easing the car into traffic. “Hey, it’s no biggie. I’ll give you a key and you’ll have a driver at your disposal, you can come and go as you please.” He paused, and said in a lower voice, “And I’ll stay out of your way. You don’t even have to see me if you don’t want to.”

Arthur stared at him, seeing how the boy’s jaw was set in a tight line and how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. He sighed and dropped his head back against the seat. “Don’t be ridiculous, lad,” he said in a kinder tone. “It’s always good to see you, and I do appreciate the hospitality. I just wasn’t expecting this, that’s all.”

Alfred seemed to relax a little at that, and he shrugged, a little smile on his lips. “Like I said, no biggie.”

‘No biggie’, indeed, Arthur thought wearily, as he closed his eyes and tried not to think of everything that could possibly go wrong with these new arrangements. He was still sorting his way through his emotions when everything just evaporated into darkness.

 

He woke with a start to the touch of a large hand on his shoulder, shaking gently. “Hey, Arthur, we’re here.”

Arthur blinked his eyes open, then winced as the bright sunlight pierced his eyes and sent a bolt of pain straight to his brain. He got out of the car slowly as Alfred was taking his bag out of the boot. He had to admit, this was one of his favorites, as Alfred’s houses went. He’d stayed at several, in different states, but he was always most comfortable in this area of the country. This was a well-maintained, comfortable house, and its location made it easy for him to visit areas of Virginia he remembered fondly.

He followed Alfred into the house and sighed in relief at the relative dimness when he stepped into the hallway. 

“You probably want to rest up a bit, so I’ll take you up to your room.”

“I know the way, Alfred, if you have something you need to do.”

“It’s no problem,” Alfred said with a quick grin, and took the stairs two at a time, carrying Arthur’s heavy suitcase as if it were nothing.

Arthur followed, more slowly, his footsteps dragging a bit with fatigue and perhaps reluctance as he made his way to the guest room he always used when he stayed here. By the time he’d reached the room, Alfred had deposited his suitcase on the antique blanket chest at the foot of the bed and was jiggling from foot to foot, waiting for him. 

“Well, here you go,” he said, a little unnecessarily. “Bathroom’s down the hall, but I’m sure you remember that. There are clean towels and soap and everything.”

“Yes, I’ll be fine. I remember where everything is.”

“I guess you want to turn in for the night?”

It was certainly tempting, but Arthur knew better than to give into it. “Good gracious, no. I’ll never shake off the jetlag if I do that. I think I’ll just take a bit of a nap.” He frowned slightly, trying to remember the itinerary. “The first official engagement is tomorrow night, isn’t it?”

Alfred nodded eagerly. “Yeah. Big dinner party. You’re the guest of honor and you’re supposed to give a speech, you know. This one’s the hush-hush one, so everyone’s going to know who you are and who I am. And Francis is going to be there, and Matthew.”

Arthur twitched involuntarily at the mention of Francis, but nodded his head, a little absently. The speech had been written weeks ago, and it wasn’t as if anyone expected him to do more than say polite things about their ‘special relationship’ and congratulate America on his independence. He didn’t realize the silence between them had stretched until Alfred sighed noisily. He looked up to see the other nation leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest, and chewing his lower lip.

Suddenly Alfred seemed to come to some sort of decision and straightened, his spine stiff. “Okay, look, let’s just get this out into the open, okay? I know you don’t want to be here. I’ve had like a hundred and ninety-nine other birthdays, and I’ve invited you to most of them, and you didn’t come, and I know the only reason you’re here for this one is because your boss made you come. And you know what? That’s okay. We both do what we have to do, right? The only thing I’m asking is that you don’t rain on my parade. This is a really big deal to my people – and to me – so I’d appreciate it if you’d at least pretend you’re having a good time.”

Arthur stared at him, and he felt a stab of hurt in the center of his chest. “Bloody hell, America,” he said hoarsely, after he finally found his voice, “you think I’d try to ruin this for you? You actually believe that of me?”

Alfred flinched at Arthur’s tone and his eyes widened. “No, no, I didn’t mean…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure what I meant. I just don’t want to fight with you, okay? And I know you don’t want to be here and –“

“Alfred.” Arthur interrupted him and briefly closed his eyes. “I’ve got an absolutely _beastly_ headache at the moment, so I’m not entirely sure anything I say right now is going to make any sense, but please believe me when I say that I am genuinely proud of you and what you’ve accomplished as a nation, and I would never do anything to denigrate that or ruin your celebration.” He rubbed a spot between his eyes. “And I have to wonder what you think of me to believe I would.”

There was a loud thud as Alfred’s head thumped back into the wall. “I’m an idiot, okay? You’ve told me that often enough, and I think you must be right.” Alfred looked genuinely apologetic and a little guilty. “I’m sorry. Can we just forget that last five minutes ever happened?” He offered a tentative smile. “Let me get you some aspirin. And – tea. I’ve got tea,” he said hopefully. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“I would bloody _love_ a cup of tea,” he said with feeling.

He was treated to a blinding smile. “Awesome! You get comfortable and I’ll bring it up for you. It’s Earl Grey! And I made Mattie write down directions so I wouldn’t ruin it. Be right back!”

Then Arthur was left gazing at empty doorway and thinking again that disaster was staring him right in the face and there was nothing he could do to avoid it.

 

Alfred stood outside Arthur’s bedroom door and hesitated a moment before knocking. Arthur said he didn’t want to sleep more than two hours, and Alfred promised to wake him if he wasn’t up by then. There had been no sounds of movement in the room, and when Arthur didn’t respond to the knocks, Alfred quietly opened the door.

Arthur was lying on his back, one arm thrown back over his head and the other hand curled up beside his face. Alfred quietly walked over to the bed and stood looking down at him. He didn’t often get a chance to look at Arthur like this, unobserved, so he took his time. Arthur really hadn’t changed much from how he looked two hundred years ago, he mused, still slim and compact and youthful looking. Although he had looked much older to the child Alfred had been back then. Older and stronger and all-powerful. How the mighty have fallen, he thought briefly, and then dismissed that thought as unworthy. England may no longer be the Empire he was before, and he no longer ruled the seas, but Alfred didn’t think he’d ever met anyone personally stronger or more clever or canny at survival. He’d seen Arthur battered and bloodied during the blitz, and he was still in awe of the sheer tenacity and stubborn will of the Nation. He’d realized decades ago that if he was in a fight, England would be the one he wanted beside him, because he was smart and he was tough, and Alfred trusted him.

He leaned over and looked a little closer at Arthur’s face, frowning in concern. There were dark smudges under his eyes and, even relaxed in sleep, he looked tired and a little tense, as if he were still in pain from that headache. His fingers itched to brush the unruly hair aside and place a kiss on that pale forehead, kiss away that little, pained frown there. But he liked his hand where it was, at the end of his arm, and he suspected it wouldn’t stay there if England woke up and found him doing that. 

It was tempting to let him sleep, but Arthur had been pretty firm about that promise, and he really should eat something. And he’d better make a move to wake him up before Arthur opened his eyes on his own and found him standing over him, staring at him while he slept. There was no way that would end well. As he had in the car, he laid a hand on Arthur’s shoulder and gently shook it. “Hey, Arthur. Wake up.”

This time Arthur didn’t start awake as he had in the car. Instead he blinked drowsily, and for a few moments, Alfred found himself staring down into unshielded green eyes. He caught his breath as he realized he _remembered_ the look in those eyes. But he hadn’t seen it directed at him in over two hundred years. And then, just like that, it was gone as Arthur came fully awake. The shutters snapped shut and Arthur was fully awake…and in control. But Alfred wasn’t going to forget what he’d seen.

“Feeling better?” Alfred asked, stepping back from the bed to give him space.

Arthur didn’t look at him, but he nodded his head cautiously as he sat up. “Yes, thank you. Much better.” He rubbed his face. “What time is it?”

“Almost seven. Could you eat something?”

Arthur shot him a wary look. “Perhaps.”

Alfred gave him his brightest smile. “I’ve fired up the grill and threw on some steaks – I know you don’t like hamburgers, even though it is a Fourth of July tradition here, but I’m willing to make the sacrifice ‘cause I’m a hero – and corn on the cob, and I grilled some vegetables. Sound okay?”

Looking surprised, Arthur nodded. “Er, yes, it sounds quite nice.”

“Good. It’s cooled off, so we can eat outside on the patio.” Alfred turned and walked to the door. “Come on down when you’re ready.” And there was a spring in his step that hadn’t been there earlier.

 

The patio was shaded and nicely cool, and dinner was companionable; Alfred was pleased to see that Arthur ate everything put in front of him. He even drank iced tea without comment. Perhaps they were a bit too polite to each other, a little too careful, but it was better than fighting, and Alfred thought it was a start. He did notice Arthur flicking glances around at odd times, but didn’t think too much of it until Arthur suddenly went still, his body tense.

“Alfred,” he said in a low, quiet voice, “we’re being watched.”

_Well, fuck_ , Alfred thought. He recognized that coiled tension in Arthur’s body, and he knew if he didn’t explain fast, some Secret Services agents were going to be getting their asses handed to them, courtesy of Arthur Kirkland. “It’s okay,” he said quickly. “They’re mine.”

“Yours?” Arthur’s eyes widened, and he leaned forward in concern. “Alfred, are you in some type of danger? Why didn’t you say something?”

“Ah--.” Damn, he should have expected this and had a story ready. But he was America, and he was awesome at thinking on his feet. “Yes, I am.” Okay, he wasn’t quite as good as he thought he was. 

Arthur’s eyebrows climbed, then furrowed deeply. “Alfred, what is it? What’s happened? What kind of danger are you in, lad?” And there was a set to his body, a determined glint in his eyes, an aura of taking control, of giving protection, that Alfred recognized, and in that instant he considered telling him truth because he really hated himself for lying to him.

He smiled weakly. “The Bi-Centennial has brought out the crazies. You know how it is. There’ve been some threats, and my boss thought it was prudent, you know.”

Arthur nodded his understanding and sat back in his chair, apparently deciding the danger wasn’t imminent. “Very wise. I hope it turns out to be nothing, Alfred, but I’m glad your boss has taken steps. These men will be with you when you leave here then to attend to your duties?”

_Well, they will now_ , Alfred thought. Their cover had been well and truly blown. “Yep. More corn?” he asked abruptly, to change the subject.

“No, I couldn’t eat another bite. That was very good, Alfred, thank you.”

Alfred hesitated, then offered, “Want a drink? I know you don’t want our ‘watery’” – he added air quotes for emphasis – “American beer, but I’ve got some whisky.” He really, really didn’t want a drunk Arthur on his hands, but he felt as if he had to make the offer.

To his surprise, and relief, Arthur declined. “What I’d really like is a cigarette,” he sighed wistfully.

“A cigarette?” Alfred held up a finger. “Hang on.” He strode into the house, rummaged a bit in the drawer of one of the side tables in the living room, then went back out to the patio and dropped a packet onto the table in front of Arthur along with a lighter.

“Bloody hell.” Arthur picked up the packet and deftly pulled out a Gauloises, lighting up. “Francis?” 

“Yeah, he left them behind the last time he came through.” Alfred wrinkled his nose. “I can’t smoke those things.”

“They’re not fit to be smoked,” Arthur said, but drew in deeply anyway and exhaled with something like bliss on his face. “Don’t think I’ve smoked one of these since the war.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you smoke since the war.”

“Hmm. I don’t usually.” But the cigarette seemed to be helping Arthur relax, and he settled back in the cushioned patio chair and looked up at the sky. “I miss seeing the stars.”

Alfred copied his pose, knowing what he meant. “Me too. I have to get out of the city to really see them. Best place I found was in the mountains in Colorado. They’re so close there, it seems like you can touch them.”

“Best place for me was always the sea,” Arthur said softly.

Arthur always got that faraway look in his eyes when he talked about the sea. “Do you miss it?”

“Yes,” was the immediate answer, but Arthur offered nothing further.

They sat in peaceful silence as Arthur finished his cigarette, and the smell of the smoke reminded Alfred of nights spent in trenches, up to their calves in mud, or of being huddled over maps and dispatches sent by Eisenhower or Montgomery, planning the next assault. 

They sat in silence for some minutes, staring at what they could see of the constellations overhead. When Arthur finally stubbed out the last of his cigarette, he sighed. “I think I shall turn in now, Alfred. Thank you again for dinner.”

“Oh, no problem. I love to grill.”

“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow at the dinner then,” Arthur said, getting to his feet.

“Yeah, I’ll probably be gone when you get up. Early meetings. But I’ll be back to change for the dinner. We can go together if you like.” He may have sounded a little anxious, or a little bashful or a little hopeful. He wasn’t really sure, because he thought he was all three.

Arthur, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice anything, because he nodded in agreement. “All right then. I’ve got my own work to do tomorrow which should keep me busy until then.”

“You know where everything is,” Alfred told him, as Arthur left the patio. “Help yourself to whatever you want in the kitchen and whatever you need in the office.”

Arthur gave him a small smile, which still looked a bit strained and tired, and then went inside.

Alfred sat there for a long time in the dark. He didn’t even realize he’d lit up a cigarette until the bitter taste registered when he took a deep drag, but he finished it anyhow.

 

Arthur wouldn’t be able to begin to count the number of gala events he’d attended in his long life. The glittering affairs of the Renaissance in the various courts of Europe, the ridiculous masques that Francis had dragged him to in his country, the Georgian era, the Victorian era, the Edwardian. The clothes changed, the music changed, the players changed (well, except for himself and Francis), but they were all loud and noisy and too crowded for his taste. But never had he felt so utterly _stifled_ as he did here at this party in the White House, even though this was nowhere as large as most of the galas he’d attended.

Making his way through the crowd, he managed to find a place by the wall and tried to draw a deep breath. It almost felt as if he were having a panic attack, and he fought the feeling down viciously. He could not afford to draw unwanted attention to himself or do anything to ruin this for Alfred. It was too important to the boy, and he needed to play his part perfectly. But it was hard to concentrate when his nuisance headache could now be classified as a full-blown migraine and he seemed to have trouble getting sufficient air into his lungs and keeping his vision from blurring around the edges.

The affair had begun early for him. Alfred had arrived back at his place three hours before the event was to start, breathlessly asking if Arthur could meet with his boss and his wife. They dearly wanted some private time to meet with him before the gala began, and Arthur didn’t feel like he could demur. It turned out to be an agreeable meeting. He found America’s President to be pleasant if a little dull, but he had been completely captivated by his enchanting, vivacious wife. After some chatting about history and Arthur’s part in it, she had taken his arm and said that Alfred told her he had a beautiful garden back home and asked if he would like to see the gardens at the White House. Then she had led him outside and they spent a pleasing hour outside admiring the gardens, much as he had with the Queen before he left. He had enjoyed her company immensely, but the time in the sun hadn’t done him any favors and probably hastened the onset of his headache.

This event was the first of many scheduled to celebrate the Bi-Centennial, but was a closed affair, including only the most high-level officials, past living Presidents, and a handful of specially invited guests. Unfortunately that meant the guests all knew his true identity and each one of them seemed intent on seeking him out. Apparently this had been the first opportunity many of them had to interact with a Nation not their own, and they were determined to make the most of it. The amateur historians in most of them seemed to come out and they wanted to ask him about Trafalgar and Churchill and the Armada and Elizabeth I and Alfred the Great and the _Druids_ … And dear god, would it never end? His own Ambassador to the United States was here and for a time had been sticking close to his side, trying to manage the constant flow of people, but Arthur had eventually sent him on his way. He’d known Gerald for years, and liked and respected the man, but his job shouldn’t be babysitter, regardless of who he suspected gave him those orders. It was only later, when his head had cleared and he’d had time to reflect, that he realized no one had mentioned the Revolutionary War. He wondered who had given _that_ order.

Arthur tried to make himself invisible and took a drink of his club soda, desperately wishing for alcohol. But he knew if he started drinking, he wouldn’t be able to stop until he was drunk off his arse, and he wasn’t going to do that to Alfred. Speaking of Alfred, he’d been surrounded by his own people since they arrived and Arthur hadn’t sought him out, but more than once he’d felt someone’s gaze on him, and when he’d turned he’d glimpsed Alfred gazing at him from across the room. It was unsettling, to say the least. For the moment, he was being left alone, and he let out a sigh of relief. But in the next instant, he heard his name called and he looked up to find a tall, cheerful man he didn’t recognize approaching him with a broad smile. Bloody hell, it was going to be a long night.

 

Alfred finished his Coke and scanned the crowd with his eyes, looking for Arthur. He knew the security was as tight as it could be and there were Secret Service agents sprinkled everywhere, but he couldn’t help his feeling of personal responsibility. Arthur was in his country, in his care, and under his protection, and he wasn’t about to let anything happen to him. He’d caught glimpses of him over the last couple of hours, looking cornered as some of Alfred’s people descended on him, wanting to talk. He’d been pretty much surrounded the entire evening himself, but he sent a silent blessing to the First Lady, when she’d swept in at one point and led Arthur away from the crowd for a few minutes to give him a breather. But now he’d lost sight of him again.

He was just thinking about sweeping the perimeter when a heavily accented voice breathed in his ear, “ _Joyeux anniversaire, Amérique_.”

“Gah!” Alfred jumped, then turned and glared at Francis, who was smiling serenely, Matthew by his side. 

“Did I startle you, Alfred?” Francis asked, eyes wide with faux innocence. “My apologies.”

“Right.” Alfred turned a smile on his brother. “Hey, Matt. Pretty good party, huh?”

“It’s really something, Al.”

“Yep, and this is just the beginning. We’ve got _weeks_ of celebrations ahead.”

“Truly _magnifiques_ , Alfred,” Francis agreed, sipping his wine. “Two hundred years. In some ways, it does not seem possible.” He looked around curiously. “Is _Angleterre_ here? I haven’t seen him.”

“Yeah, he’s here. He’s just been monopolized by some of my people. They were kind of excited to have another Nation here, especially one as old as he is.” He flashed Francis and Matthew a rueful grin. “You two can count yourselves lucky you’re here incognito as my personal guests.”

“Believe me, I do,” Matthew said with feeling. “Poor Arthur. Maybe we should try to rescue him.”

All three of them were now looking around, but it was Francis who hissed, “ _Merde_ ,” and quickly left their sides, striding gracefully and purposefully across the room, easily navigating the crowd with centuries of practice.

Alfred frowned. “What the hell?” It wasn’t until Francis nearly made it to the other side of the room that Alfred realized why Francis had taken off. Arthur was leaning against the wall, a hand to his head. His knees had just started to buckle when Francis appeared by his side and put a steadying hand under his arm. Alfred made a movement to follow, but Matthew stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Wait a minute, Al. Better let Francis handle this. Arthur’s not going to be pleased if we all charge over there, and if you rush over, people are going to notice.”

Recognizing the truth of that, Alfred stayed where he was, but worried his lower lip. “He’s been having these headaches, ever since he got here.”

“Really?”

Later, Alfred would recognize Matthew’s odd tone for what it was, but at the moment, he was too focused on Francis and Arthur to think about it. “Yeah. But I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“It looks like Francis is taking him outside for some air. Let’s give them a few minutes, okay? Besides, you can’t walk out on your own party.”

Giving in to Matthew’s tug on his arm, Alfred reluctantly allowed himself to be turned away from the door, but only after he saw some men in dark suits slip out into the night. At least here at the White House Arthur wouldn’t question the security if he spotted it; and he was bound to notice it. For all he knew, Arthur had _invented_ MI-6. Hell, for all he knew, he was the original Bond, James Bond.

 

“Okay, frog, you can let go now.”

“Are you certain?” Francis asked, no trace of levity in his voice. He’d led Arthur outside onto the portico and guided him over to one of the stone seats along the edge.

“Yes, thank you,” Arthur said stiffly, and lowered himself onto the seat. After a moment, Francis sat down beside him. Arthur dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his temples. “Fucking hell, this is worse than I thought it would be.”

Silently, Francis offered him his half-filled glass of wine. Arthur hesitated a moment, then took it and downed it one gulp, handing back the empty glass. Francis accepted it with a sigh. “Ah, _Angelterre_ , I suppose you haven’t told _Amerique_?”

“No, I haven’t. And if you want to keep your vital organs where they are, you won’t either.”

“Do you honestly believe he’s not going to notice that you almost fainted at his party?”

“I didn’t _faint_. I…stumbled. I would have been fine.”

“You swooned like a Victorian virgin,” Francis said dismissively. “You would have fallen on your face if I had not been there to offer my assistance.” 

Arthur ignored him. If you ignored Francis long enough, usually he took the hint and went away. But apparently not this time. He felt a hand on his shoulder and it gave a gentle squeeze.

“You are an idiot,” Francis said with a sigh. “Tell the boy. He will understand, and perhaps it will clear some of the air between you.”

“There is no ‘air’ between us, frog.”

Francis snorted somewhat inelegantly. “At this point, I cannot decide whether you actually believe that or whether you are so mired in denial that you no longer know the truth.”

“And I have no idea what you’re blathering on about,” he said flatly.

“Hmm.” Francis got to his feet, and Arthur thought he was going to leave, but he stepped behind Arthur and laid his fingertips on Arthur’s temples. 

Arthur jumped. “What are you –“

“Shh. Stay still, _mon petite lapin_. This will help, at least for a little while.” He began a gentle massage of Arthur’s temples, and gradually Arthur felt himself relax a bit. “This is better, _non_?”

Arthur grunted, but didn’t agree.

Francis said tentatively, “Perhaps you should excuse yourself for tonight.”

“I can’t do that.”

“But if you are not well, they would surely understand.”

“No one would understand, Francis. How could they? Besides, this is duty. I’m here on behalf of my government and my Queen.” He paused, then added quietly, “I know you understand duty.”

“ _Oui_ , I do. I also understand you are being foolish, but that you are too stubborn to change your mind. How long are you expected to remain here, attending their celebrations?”

“Two fucking _weeks_. You know the Americans, they never do anything by half-measures. And I have to be here when the Queen arrives.”

Francis made a disapproving noise, but only continued his soothing massage. Finally, he ventured, “But, these are merely parties, Arthur. Certainly you could find a way to –“

“I can’t. I won’t. This is too important to Alfred.” Arthur rotated his head a bit, sighing in relief. “I know two hundred years isn’t much to the likes of you and me, but it is to Alfred. And this…this is something I can do for him.”

Francis muttered something under his breath in French that Arthur ignored, and he moved his head away from Francis’s hands. “Go back to the party.” When Francis didn’t move, Arthur turned his head to look at him. Francis was still watching him, a frown of concern between his eyes. It never failed to surprise him that despite the number of times they had tried to kill one another over the course of their lives, there was still some kind of bond there, even if it defied description.“Please go back to the party,” Arthur amended. “I’ll be in shortly. And…” He seemed to strangle on the words. “Thank you.”

Francis chuckled. “I do hope that didn’t hurt too much, _mon cher_.” Arthur scowled at him, but the frog only ruffled his hair and took his leave.

Arthur had his head down and was trying to emulate Francis’s temple massage, to varying results, when he saw two highly polished shoes step into view in front of him. Already knowing who it was, he raised his head and sat back; as expected, Alfred was looming over him, a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. 

“Still got that headache, huh?” he asked sympathetically, and sat down beside him. Without waiting for an answer, he held out the glass.

Arthur accepted it, then held out his own hand and waited as two white pills were deposited there. He popped the pills into his mouth and washed them down with the water. “Thank you.”

“Are you going to be okay for the speech and all?”Alfred asked a little hesitantly. “If you’re not feeling well, we can just get you out of here –“

“Nonsense,” Arthur said immediately. “It’s just a headache. I’ll be fine.” He was the guest of honor and speaker at the dinner, and he was damned if he was going to leave Alfred high and dry.

“Things going on back home?” When Arthur looked at him blankly, Alfred shrugged, a little awkwardly. “I mean, usually when we get sick or something, it’s because of things happening back home.”

“Ah yes.” Well, that was as good an excuse as any, Arthur realized. “Well, it’s always something, isn’t it?” he asked with a wry smile. “If it’s not the unions, it’s the IRA, and if it’s not them, then Parliament can’t get along. Just part of being a Nation.”

“The IRA giving you trouble again?”

“They never seems to stop giving me trouble,” Arthur answered absently, but wondered why the sudden interest in his issues back home.

There was a discreet cough at the door, and Alfred nodded. “It’s just about time to go in for dinner.”

Arthur set his glass aside and got to his feet. “Right then. I wouldn’t want to be late and miss my opportunity to escort the First Lady.”

A smile blossomed on Alfred’s face. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”

“She really is.” Arthur straightened his jacket. “Well, come on then, America. This is your party, you don’t want to keep everyone waiting.” And he walked back into the room, leaving Alfred spluttering behind him and hurrying to catch up.

The fresh air had helped and Arthur was feeling better by the time he’d escorted the First Lady to her place at the head table and took his seat beside her. Even though the food was excellent, he was careful to eat slowly to disguise the fact he wasn’t doing more than rearranging the food on his plate. He didn’t quite trust his stomach at the moment, but gratefully drank the most excellent Darjeeling tea that a wonderfully efficient server kept pouring into the china cup by his elbow.

Finally it was time for his speech, and he stood, looking at the expectant faces around the room. Everyone had been gracious and kind, if a bit enthusiastic, and Alfred…well, this visit with Alfred was going better than he had ever hoped. Perhaps this time they would get it right, he thought. New beginnings, a time to put the past behind them and start over. He looked at Alfred and couldn’t help remembering when he’d looked at him as a young colony and saw his own hopes and dreams. They were Alfred’s hopes and dreams now. Alfred was watching him in anticipation, that open, curious look on his face that Arthur knew so well. He wondered if Alfred felt the same pull he did, like the tugging of a string, when they were around each other. He’d given up thinking – hoping- that it would someday disappear. After two hundred years, he didn’t think it likely. He’d loved that boy like he had never loved anyone else in his long life, and he had been hurt worse than he had ever been hurt before or since when Alfred rebelled and broke away from him. But, hurt and angry as he had been, he had never stopped loving America. How could he? As a child, America had chosen him, and no one had ever done that before. He had made many mistakes in the past, and many with Alfred, but as he’d told Francis, this was something he could do for him.

His notes were in front of him, but he folded them and put them back in his suit jacket. That was a speech written weeks ago, and America deserved words that came from the heart, not words that came merely from a pen. He deserved words that matched the bright hope on his face and the optimism shining in his eyes. So Arthur delivered a speech, not the one he had written in his office on a rainy Monday, but one that came from a part of himself he had tried to bury a long time ago.

When he finished, there was a split second of silence, and then Alfred was on his feet, his face alight with pride and something else Arthur couldn’t identify, and then everyone was on their feet, and the applause erupted and it sounded like the roar of the ocean during a storm. He tried to sit down, but Alfred was there, right in front of him, and he was caught up in a hug that took his breath away. Over Alfred’s shoulder, he could see Matthew smiling at him, violet eyes wet and shining, and by his side Francis was raising his glass to him in a silent toast, nodding in approval. 

 

“You look like you’re about ready to drop. How about we get you out of here?” 

Arthur looked up into Alfred’s face, saw the unconcealed concern there, and wanted badly to accept the offer, but said, “It’s bad form for the guest of honor to leave so early, Alfred.” He’d had his dance with the First Lady and had managed to politely beg off any further dances, but this night promised to go on for hours yet.

Alfred grinned toothily. “Arthur, I’ve got the heads of the FBI, the CIA and the Secret Service here. Trust me, between them we can get you out of here without anyone being the wiser.” Then his smile turned impish. “And, seriously, we’ve got a lot of these things in the next couple of weeks. Wouldn’t want you to burn out now, old man.”

It was too much effort to muster up his usual glare, but he did furrow his eyebrows in a pale imitation of his usual scowl. “Fine. If you think your clandestine departments are up to the task.”

“Ha. Just watch.”

In the end, it was Alfred himself who escorted him out while various officials and agents ran interference. Once outside in the blessedly cool night air, Arthur was aware of darker shadows moving around them. “I’m glad to see your security details are doing their jobs.”

“What?” Alfred seemed confused for a moment, then agreed, “Oh yeah, no worries there. They’re the best.”

“Hmm,” was all Arthur said about that. He was guided over to a black car where a man in a dark suit was waiting for them. 

“Arthur, this is Adam. He’s your driver while you’re here. Anytime you need to go somewhere you just give him a call, okay? He’ll always be nearby. Here’s his number.” 

Arthur accepted the card Alfred held out to him without looking at it. “Alfred, I’m perfectly capable of driving myself. I’ve been doing it for years, and I do know which side of the road to drive on when I’m here.”

“Hey, just consider this a perk, okay? One less thing you have to worry about.” 

And without further ado, Arthur found himself bundled into the back seat of a car with darkened windows and on his way back to Alfred’s house.

He was so exhausted when he got back that he barely took time to brush his teeth, and his suit ended up draped sloppily over a chair instead of hanging properly in a closet. Sometime during the night, he woke up groggily to the touch of a large, warm hand on his forehead.

“Shh. It’s okay, ‘s me. Just making sure you’re okay. Go back to sleep.”

In his sleep-fogged state he recognized that hand and the sound of that whispered voice, and he sighed and slipped back into sleep.

The next morning, when he finally woke up to find the sun pouring in the window, he wondered if it had been a dream. Certainly the sensation of cool lips on his forehead must have been.

 

It was after nine in the morning when Arthur finally went into Alfred’s kitchen. He stood for a moment, surveying everything: there were no fewer than a dozen boxes of Earl Grey tea stacked on the counter, along with an electric kettle that looked like it had just been taken out of the box (because Alfred hadn’t had it when he was here last), and when he opened a white pastry box next to it, he found fresh croissants nestled inside. Smiling at bit at all this effort on Alfred’s behalf, Arthur put the kettle on and prepared his breakfast, seeing the carefully written instructions on how to properly prepare tea (he recognized Matthew’s neat handwriting) taped to the side of a cabinet.

When he sat down with his tea and pastry, the day’s edition of the Washington Post and London Times were waiting for him on the table. He opened up the Times, but found himself more lost in thought about Alfred’s actions than taking note of what was going on elsewhere. His speech last night had been more personal than he’d intended, but it had been honest and came from the heart, and Alfred had seemed genuinely moved by it. Since his very bad migraine yesterday, he had been feeling fine, and he wondered if this new sort of détente between them, for want of a better word (and, oh god, he’d resorted to using a _French_ word; must be the croissants) could be having some sort of effect. Whatever it was, he finished his breakfast with a new determination to keep their relationship moving in this new direction. 

After he’d cleaned up, he moved over to the jumbled pile of various types of sunglasses that had been left out for him. He rarely traveled with sunglasses, not expecting to need them, but the bright summer sun here seemed to be aggravating his headaches, and he’d asked Alfred if he could borrow a pair. Alfred had quite the collection, everything from vintage plastic frames to newer, expensive aviator wires. He considered them all, then on a whim, selected a pair of aviator frames. He’d dressed in casual clothes today, and with the addition of these sunglasses, he could pass for a college student at one of the local universities. 

He planned to walk today and explore one of his favorite parts of town on foot. He’d always liked Georgetown, loved the feel of it, remembered it when it was just a trading post and shipping port, could almost smell the tobacco leaves that had left in ships there. These days, of course, it was a posh area of high-end shops and expensive old townhouses. But it was near the Potomac and Arthur loved walking its old streets and stopping in at the tea shops. He had the day to himself as the next function wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow, and he planned a pleasant day walking and enjoying the pleasant weather, and then a visit to the Library of Congress. At the last minute, he picked up the card Alfred had pressed on him and slipped it in his pocket. He didn’t need a driver for what he wanted to do, but he was practical enough to realize if he felt ill again, it would be good to have the number handy to call the driver. Sunglasses on his nose, he left Alfred’s house and set out.

He had set a brisk pace for himself, but had only reached the edges of Georgetown when he knew he was being followed. He made a few extra turns just to make sure, and after a few minutes, it was confirmed and he was cold with fury. Not only was he being followed, but he was being followed by the ‘driver’ Alfred had introduced him to. The little fucker had him under _surveillance_. Suddenly, it made sense: all the shadows he had spotted since he’d arrived, they hadn’t been for Alfred at all, they had been for _him_. And Alfred had lied to him. Apparently détente didn’t include trust. What the bloody Americans thought he was going to do, he had no idea; but what he wasn’t going to do, was allow this to continue.

He smiled to himself as he crossed a street, and it wasn’t a pleasant smile. He had learned the art of following (and not being followed) at a time when failure meant your body, if it turned up at all, would most likely be found in the Thames or the Seine or the Rhine or some nameless canal in Holland. And sometimes, in more than one of those places. Somehow he doubted that Adam – if that was indeed his name – was in his league. 

He ducked into the first clothing store he came to, quickly acquired what he needed, and left by an emergency exit. His distinctive light hair was now covered by a hat and he was now in a blue t-shirt and carrying a plastic carrier bag. Back in the day, he had used a number of disguises and various ways to darken his hair, but this was pathetically easy. As he continued his walk, he saw that Adam had found him again, but Arthur expected that; he’d hoped that one of America’s men wasn’t completely incompetent at his job. He didn’t want to lose him too soon, after all, or where was the fun in that? Next he headed for Georgetown University. There were always summer classes going on at universities, and always students around, and he would blend in perfectly.

Timing was everything, and as luck would have it, there was a trio playing folk music on one of the green areas in front of the university, and a crowd of young people milling around. Arthur slipped into their midst seamlessly and made his way across the court to one of the buildings. Once inside he located the men’s room and the blue t-shirt was quickly discarded. When he exited the bathroom he was wearing a white t-shirt with a plaid short-sleeved shirt over top, plus a different hat. Then he began randomly moving from building to building until he was on the other side of campus. Once he had exited the last building, he headed for the Potomac where there were plenty of people enjoying walks at this time of the day, briefly joined a group of noisy tourists who had gotten off a bus, and then made his way back to Georgetown proper. Adam was nowhere in sight. Tsk. So much for America’s clandestine departments.

He located a tea shop that looked promising and stepped inside. He took his time selecting a tea, ordered a pot and a nice looking scone, then sat down at one of the small tables to wait. 

Thirty-five minutes later America appeared in the doorway, face flushed and breathing hard. Arthur hoped he had run all the way from the White House. Perhaps hanging his hat on the sign pole outside this shop had finally given Adam a hint as to where he was. Alfred stood in the doorway for a moment, chewing his lip, then walked to the counter and ordered a coffee. He approached Arthur’s table warily, but pulled out a chair and sat down when all Arthur did was calmly sip his tea.

Alfred cleared his throat a little nervously. “Are you going to let me explain?”

“What I’m going to do,” he said coldly, “is allow you to take me back to your place so I can pack, and then you’re going to take me to my hotel.”

Alfred’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t do that.”

“You can, and you most certainly will.” Arthur had to swallow hard to keep his tone even, to keep the anger from erupting in violence. “And you will explain to me why you have had me under bloody _surveillance_ since I set foot in this country.”

Alfred heard the danger in his tone, and he lifted his hands, as if asking Arthur to keep calm. “Please. Just let me explain, and after you’ve heard me out, if you still want to go to a hotel, I’ll take you, okay?” He leaned forward a little, blue eyes pleading, “But, please, listen to me first.”

Arthur flicked his eyes away, refusing to meet his gaze. “Speak.”

“Ah, not here, okay? Let’s walk. The Potomac’s –“

“I know where the Potomac is,” he snarled, his anger spiking as he eyes snapped back to Alfred. “I took you sailing on the fucking Potomac when you were a _child_.” Alfred looked stricken, and Arthur refused to look away. “I was hoping to have a pleasant walk there today, but I didn’t know I’d have someone shadowing my every move.” With that, he angrily pushed his chair back and got to his feet, striding outside without looking back. Footsteps quickly followed, and he felt Alfred at his shoulder.

When they got down to the river, Alfred nodded toward a tree offering shade off the path. Without a word, Arthur walked over and sat down on the grass, face stony.

Alfred dropped down opposite him cross-legged and pulled off his glasses, rubbing his eyes so hard it must have hurt. “Okay, I am so not supposed to tell you any of this, but here goes.” He put his glasses back on and looked directly and earnestly at Arthur. “While you were on the plane on your way here, the Queen called my boss.”

“She what?” Of all the things Arthur expected to hear, it wasn’t that.

“Called him personally. Told him she expected us to take care of you and make sure nothing happened to you while you were here. She used the words ‘national treasure’ and said we may not have such a special relationship if we were careless enough to let anything happen to you.” Arthur closed his eyes and sank back against the tree. “And she said she didn’t want you alone in a hotel in case anything happened.”

“Oh, Lillibet,” he murmured, rubbing his forehead.

“Well, our security guys did some extrapolation from that and decided you must be in some kind of danger. The best they could come up with was an IRA threat – we do have a group that we’re keeping an eye on that sends money to the IRA, you know. So we moved you from a hotel to my place so I could keep an eye on you when I was there, and there _were_ Secret Service agents stationed there until you blew their cover. Nice job, by the way. And we set up Adam, who really is very good at what he does, despite the fact you totally kicked his ass in the spy department today, and was supposed to be on you twenty-four/seven.” Alfred snatched some blades of grass and began shredding them idly. “Right now, everyone still believes it’s an IRA threat. But after last night, I’m thinking it was something else that worried the Queen, wasn’t it? Worried her enough to make her call the President, telling him just enough to make sure we’d keep an eye on you, but not telling us what was really wrong.” Alfred leaned forward and tried to catch Arthur’s eye. “How am I doing so far?”

How could he have forgotten how smart Alfred really was, and how very tenacious he could be when it suited him? Oh, he could still be completely oblivious and unable to read the atmosphere, but if it was something he truly cared about… Arthur gave his head a sharp shake to rid himself of that line of thinking, then regretted it instantly. The dull thudding in his temples had begun in the tea shop and now there was pressure building behind his eyes that promised agony later.

“Alfred, do you have access to a car?” he asked quietly.  
The apparent non sequitur seemed to throw Alfred for a moment. “Uh, sure, yeah. I just have to make a phone call.”  
“Would you mind making that phone call? I don’t want to have this conversation here, but I’m not sure I’m up to the walk back to your place.”  
Alfred stared at him for a moment, then whispered, “Crap.” Leaning forward, he laid a hand on his knee, anxiety radiating from him. “Stay right here,” he ordered. “I’ll be right back.” Then he sprang to his feet and took off at speed.  
Arthur sighed and dropped his head back against the bark of the tree, still feeling the warm touch of Alfred’s hand on his knee. That hadn’t gone well at all.

 

Alfred returned less than a minute later, and less than five after that a car was parked by the side of the road, emergency flashers blinking. Alfred, who had been pacing back and forth restlessly, actually extended a hand to pull him to his feet, and Arthur eyed the hand with narrowed eyes. After a moment, Alfred stuffed the hand into his jeans pocket and Arthur got to his feet. Of course, that’s when he caught his toe on a tree root and Alfred’s hand flashed out and strong fingers encircled his wrist, steadying him.

Stiffly, Arthur nodded his thanks, then pulled his hand out of the grip and walked over to the car. As he settled in the back seat, appreciating the dimness the darkened windows afforded, he noted that the driver wasn’t Adam. He rested his head back against the leather seat. Probably been sent for a remedial class in Surveillance 101. Or getting a solid bollocking. Or both. He wasn’t about to apologize for it; if it had been one of his men who had lost a target on his own patch like that, he’d be spending his time behind a desk for the foreseeable future.

The ride to Alfred’s house was silent; Arthur kept his eyes firmly closed, and Alfred, for once, kept his mouth shut. 

Alfred stayed behind to have a word with the driver while Arthur went inside the house. He usually detested air conditioning, but he was grateful for it now, offering respite from the sultry DC weather. He went straight to the kitchen and filled the kettle with water. There was comfort to be found - for him at least – in the ritual of preparing tea, and for now that was all he allowed himself to think about. Alfred came into the kitchen, watched him for a moment, then turned on the coffee maker and got out cups. The silence between them remained until they both had cups of their chosen drinks and were seated across from one another at the kitchen table.

Arthur could hear Alfred’s leg jiggling with restless energy, or nerves, under the table, and after he had taken his first drink of tea, he sat his cup down and looked up. “Do you remember meeting Princess – as she was then – Elizabeth during the war?”

Alfred blinked, obviously not expecting that, but after a moment he nodded. “Sure. She was real pretty, and kind of serious, and she had a really nice smile.”

Arthur couldn’t help the small smile that touched his own lips at that description. “She still does. She was never expected to be queen, you know. Her uncle David was heir to the throne, and everyone fully expected him to become king and have children. Then, with the unexpected abdication and her father becoming king, suddenly she was the next in line.” He was getting off topic and brought himself back. “She and I were very close when she was growing up, and after her father became king she came to me often and we spent many hours speaking of other kings and queens and duty and responsibility.” He took a moment to remember that serious young girl who had suddenly had the weight of duty thrust onto her small shoulders. “I was at Windsor one day during the blitz, visiting with the royal family. There was a raid that night. They were all bad, of course, but this one was particularly vicious. It was the first time she had seen first-hand what the bombings did to me. Unfortunately there was no way to shield her from it, and I’m afraid it was very distressing for her.”

“Hey, I saw it for myself a few times during the blitz,” Alfred said suddenly, frowning at Arthur.   
Surprised, Arthur stared at him until Alfred abruptly turned his attention to his coffee, muttering, “Scared the shit out of me, so I know how she felt.”

It took Arthur a moment to get himself back to the point he was making, and he cleared his throat. “In any event, the effects of that bombing were particularly unpleasant,” he said slowly, “and it took quite some time for me to recover. No one wanted to risk moving me, so I was at Windsor until I was able to travel. I’ll always regret that she witnessed that ordeal, but I believe that is why, after that, she became so…protective.”

Alfred looked up, nodding in understanding. “So that explains the phone call.”

He nodded. “Yes. Normally, she would not interfere like that.”

Alfred’s face was scrunched up in puzzlement. “So, you’re saying, you _are_ in danger? And that’s why you haven’t been well and why she’s worried?”

Arthur wondered briefly if he could still get away with blaming it on the IRA, then reluctantly decided he wouldn’t take that path. He’d decided he wanted to start anew, as it were, with Alfred, and that meant being honest with him and getting this out in the open and hopefully put it behind them. 

“No.” Arthur took one more drink of tea, then set the cup firmly on the table. “Alfred, I regret that I’ve let you believe all these years that I simply did not want to attend your birthday celebrations. You probably thought it was anger or pride or spite, and at one point, that would have been true.” He paused, and said pointedly, “I believe the first few invitations you sent me were probably sent out of spite, were they not?”

Alfred’s cheeks darkened and his lips tightened, but he gave his head a brief nod. “Yeah. Not proud of it, but I was still pretty angry with you and I guess I wanted to rub your nose in my independence.”

Arthur nodded his understanding. “We were both angry, we had both been hurt, I think that’s something we can agree on. But I’d like to think we’ve moved past that by now.”

“We have,” Alfred said quickly. “Of course we have.” He leaned a little closer, a spark of worry in his eyes as he searched Arthur’s face. “You know I didn’t keep sending those invitations out of spite, right? Hell, we fought in two wars together, and we’ve been working together for decades. You didn’t think I kept inviting you just to hurt you, did you?”

Arthur wasn’t sure exactly when it was that he knew that Alfred was genuinely inviting him to share a celebration with him, but he knew it had been for a long time. “Yes, my boy, I knew. Despite the fact that we both seem to have an unlimited capacity to hurt one another, I did know that. But I regret that I wasn’t honest with you as to why I wouldn’t accept.”

“Pretty obvious why you didn’t.” Alfred shrugged, but let his gaze slip away. Alfred had always done that, Arthur remembered, when he didn’t want you to see what was in his eyes. As he grew and matured, he had learned to school his features when he didn’t want to be read, but he had never learned to veil what was in his eyes. “Figured you hated me.”

“Oh, Alfred.” The rawness in his voice brought Alfred’s gaze sharply back to him too quickly for him to mask the vulnerability in his eyes. Slowly reaching across the table, Arthur laid a hand on Alfred’s wrist and squeezed it gently. “My dear boy, I never hated you. I _can’t_ hate you, even though I did try for a while.”

Alfred’s eyes were huge behind his lenses as he tried to process this. “But I thought – I hated _you_ ,” he blurted a little desperately. “For a while, I hated you. And I thought, I thought…”

“You thought I hated you too,” Arthur nodded with a grim smile. “In many ways, I think it would have been a lot easier for me if I had.” Alfred looked stricken, and Arthur patted his wrist in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. He understood it would be easier for Alfred to justify his own feelings if Arthur had reciprocated them. “It’s all right, lad,” he said kindly, “I knew how you felt.”

Alfred swallowed. “That doesn’t help.”

Arthur dismissed it. “It was a long time ago, and I trust you no longer harbor those feelings.”

“Of course I don’t!” Alfred looked genuinely upset at the idea. “You know I don’t.”

Arthur felt an overwhelming desire to pull Alfred to him, wrap his arms around him and offer comfort. It had been so long since he’d been able to do that, or to offer him anything of any real substance. That’s why this visit was so important, and why it was so important to finally offer him the truth at the very least. Well, apparently the frog had been right about one thing. Not that he’d ever tell him that.

“Then why?” Alfred asked plaintively. “Why ignore all my invitations and blow them off until you’re finally ordered to be here?”

Arthur wished he’d had time to give some thought to how he was going to explain this, but he’d just have to do the best he could. “Alfred,” he said slowly, “I’m sure you’ve spoken with some of your veterans, men who’ve lost limbs to battle injuries. To a man, all of them speak of ‘phantom pain’, the pain they feel in a limb they no longer have.” He took a long breath. “Losing you, losing this colony, was like losing a limb for me. The only way I can describe it is like having an arm or a leg amputated on the battlefield, without anesthetic. It was that brutal, it was that agonizing and violent; and ever since then, on your anniversary, I have suffered the ‘phantom pain’, if you will, of that amputated limb in some form or another.”

Alfred stared at him in shock. His mouth opened, then closed. Arthur saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Are you telling me, are you saying that you’re sick because of _me_?”

“I’ve never personalized it in that way,” he said steadily. “I’ve never blamed you for it. It just is.”

Alfred stood suddenly, his chair clattering noisily to the floor. “I don’t think it matters if you blame me or not. This has been happening _every fucking year_? And you never told me?”

Yes, and this was exactly why Arthur had decided never to tell him. This was why was you didn’t take advice from frogs or second-guess yourself when, in your heart, you knew it would only end in disaster. He noted dispassionately that his headache had ratcheted up several notches, and now his hands were trembling slightly. He’d learned long ago that emotional distress only made the symptoms worse, and why hadn’t he remembered that earlier? “What would have been the point of telling you?” he asked, keeping his voice level and calm.

“What point? Oh, I don’t know, England, maybe because I thought we were finally _friends_ , and friends don’t lie to one another and they’re honest with each other. And they sure as hell don’t hide something this big.”

Arthur thought of reminding him that Alfred had lied to him not twenty-four hours ago, but bit it down. This could easily turn into a circular argument if he allowed it, and he may have already damaged things beyond his ability to mend them again. That thought sent a shiver of pain through him that had nothing to do with his headache.

“Please sit down, Alfred,” he said quietly, unnerved by way the boy was looming angrily.

“No,” Alfred said flatly. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Arthur felt his temper flare at that dig, but the anger died almost immediately when he realized he’d failed in what he had hoped to do, and then all he felt was despair.

“Francis knows, doesn’t he?”

Arthur looked up in surprise and met Alfred’s angry gaze. Well, he’d decided to be honest, and the damage was already done. “Yes.” Then he shook his head wearily. “My weaknesses are known to France, just as his are known to me. It’s how we’ve survived side-by-side all this time. Something this potentially useful to him? Of course the frog knew from almost the beginning.”

“And Matt knows too, doesn’t he?” Alfred said flatly, unimpressed with his answer.

Arthur wondered how he knew that, because he was certain Matthew would not have said anything. “It was a long time ago,” he said finally. “Matthew was visiting around the time of your birthday, and I became ill.” It had actually been something of a relief to talk to Matthew about it. He remembered Matthew making him tea and reading quietly to him when the pain was so bad he couldn’t focus his eyes to read for himself. He had always been such a sweet, supportive boy, even after he got his own independence. There had never been any rancor between them, and Matthew had listened without judgment and had given his word not to tell his brother.

“So, you told Francis – a guy you say you can’t even stand – and my own brother, but you can’t tell me.” Alfred was glaring at him, his breath noisy and harsh with anger. “Well, thanks so much for the vote of confidence, _England_. I guess it’s just as well you don’t have to give any more speeches while you’re here. That way you won’t have to lie about how proud you are of me and our so-called special relationship.”

With that, Alfred turned on his heel and strode from the kitchen, and a moment later, Arthur heard the front door slam behind him. He slumped in his chair and put his head in his hands. “Oh, fucking _hell_.”

 

Alfred walked. He ran. He jogged. He stomped. He kicked stones when he could find them. He strode through the streets of his capital, his insides churning with emotions. He was angry, he was hurt, he was confused, he was suffused with guilt. Arthur had lied to him for two hundred years. _Lied to him_. So much for trust, so much for friendship, so much for their so-called special relationship. What else had he lied about? 

He walked for hours. By the time he realized where his footsteps were taking him, he no longer felt the white-hot blaze of fury. Instead it was a simmering anger along with the ache of hurt and still oppressive feeling of guilt. He stopped at the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, then slowly climbed the stairs. He should have known this was where he was going to end up. He’d sought solace here in the past when he was trying to work through some thorny issue. Abraham Lincoln had always had a calming effect on him, and just sitting by his statue sometimes helped. He sat down, staring off into the dusk of Washington DC, and began gingerly probing those sore parts within himself.

Anger. Yes, he was fucking angry. Angry that Arthur had lied to him all these years, angry that he had dumped all this on him now, of all times. He could have gone the rest of his existence without knowing Arthur got sick every year and he was the cause.

He took a deep breath and rested his head against the column that represented one of Lincoln’s legs. He could almost feel one of Abe’s big hands in his hair, gently soothing as he encouraged him to work through what was bothering him, making him figure it out for himself. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “I can’t have it both ways. I’m either mad at him for telling me, or mad because he didn’t tell me. I get it.”

He sat there for a long time, and by the time he finally got to his feet, he acknowledged what was really upsetting him was the guilt. He hated, absolutely hated, the fact that he had been hurting Arthur all these years, and he hadn’t realized it. There had been a time, during his revolution, that he had wanted to hurt Arthur. God, he’d been so angry back then. But that was a long time ago, and the revelation that Arthur hadn’t returned his hatred during that time, that he had never hated him, and that he had been silently suffering while Alfred had been celebrating his birthdays, had shaken him badly. 

Arthur had sat there in his kitchen and had finally been honest with him, had told him everything even though it had obviously been hard for him; Alfred knew how difficult it was for Arthur to admit to any weakness, and yet he had had opened himself up for Alfred’s response. And Alfred’s response had been to throw his honesty back in his face and walk out on him. Alfred loped down the steps of the Memorial with new determination. It was time for the hero to face up to it and make a few revelations himself. He could only think of one reason why Arthur had been protecting him from this truth for the last two hundred years, and that thought gave him hope.

 

It was nearly dark by the time he made it back to his house, and he saw uneasily that no lights were on. He picked up his pace as it occurred to him that Arthur might be having another bad headache, or worse, and he burst through the front door, calling, “Arthur?”

But he knew as soon as his voice echoed, that the house was empty. Almost automatically, he headed for the kitchen, for no other reason than that was the last place he had seen Arthur. He saw as soon as he stopped in the doorway that it had been tidied, Arthur’s cup washed and in the drain, the boxes of Earl Grey tea he’d bought nowhere in sight. With a sigh, he walked over to a cupboard and opened the door. There they were, neatly stacked, hidden away, no longer needed. He shut the door a little harder than necessary, and when he turned around, he saw the folded piece of paper on the kitchen table. His heart sinking, he moved over to pick it up.

Alfred,  
I’ve made the necessary phone call and your government has been notified it is no longer necessary to concern themselves with my safety. I have the itinerary for all engagements and will attend as planned.  
A.K.

“Well, _fuck_.” He dropped the note to the table and ran upstairs. Shaking off the feeling that he should knock on his own guest room door, he pushed it open, not sure what he was hoping for. As expected, the room was neater than it had been before Arthur arrived, which was always the case when Arthur stayed with him. He was about to turn away when the sight of something out of place caught his eye. He walked into the room and bent over to pick up some folded stationery-sized papers that had apparently fallen to the side of a chair. He opened them as he straightened, his eyes flicking over the neat, familiar writing. It was Arthur’s speech from last night. They must have fallen out of his jacket. He was about to toss them onto the bureau when he focused on the words and frowned. As he continued to read, he leaned against the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor. This had obviously been Arthur’s speech; but it had not been the speech he had delivered. This was…kind of bland and politically correct, and a little stiff, just the type of speech you would expect a speaker to deliver at that dinner. But Arthur’s words last night hadn’t come from a piece of paper; they had come from somewhere else, and listening to him, Alfred felt as if Arthur had reached inside of him and was cradling his heart in his hands. He felt _loved_. It was as if it hadn’t so much been a speech to the attendees, but to Alfred alone…

He dropped his head back against the wall with a thud, and then just kept thumping his head against the wall until it hurt enough that he stopped. “Fuck fuck, _fuck_.” He was an idiot. A gold-plated, grade A, first class idiot to have missed it. What was wrong with him? It had been right there in front of him, and he hadn’t seen it. He sprang to his feet. He had to fix this.

 

Alfred was pacing restlessly around his living room when he heard the front door open.

“Al?”

“In here, Matt.” He waited impatiently until Matthew and Francis arrived in the doorway. He should have known that Francis would be along for the ride, but maybe that would be helpful. He could use all the help he could get. 

Matthew was wearing a worried frown. “What’s wrong? My embassy said it was urgent.”

“It is urgent.” Alfred folded his arms across his chest and looked at them both, his mouth in a tight line. “You both knew, didn’t you? You knew, and neither one of you could say a fucking word to me?”

Matthew and Francis stared at him, eyes wide. Then Francis sighed and rubbed his forehead. “ _Mon Dieu_. He finally told you, did he?”

“Yeah, after two hundred years.” He glared at Matthew. “Thanks for the heads-up, little brother.”

But Matthew wasn’t about to be cowed. “Wasn’t my story to tell, Al,” he said evenly. “And I didn’t know about it for two hundred years.”

Alfred jerked his head toward Francis. “But he did.”

“It was not my place, _Amérique_ ,” Francis said crisply, and a little sharply. Then he looked around, a frown forming on his face. “Where is _Angleterre_?” he asked cautiously.

Alfred dropped down into a chair, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “Gone,” Alfred said miserably. “I fucked up. I really, really fucked up.”

Matthew and Francis both sat on the sofa opposite him. “Oh, Alfred,” Matthew said softly, “what did you do?”

Alfred looked up to find Matthew staring at him with a worried look on his face, and Francis looking uncharacteristically tense.

“Alfred.” Francis leaned forward a little, his voice serious, “It took Arthur two hundred years to bring himself to tell you the truth. What happened?”

“I fucked up,” he repeated.

“Start at the beginning, Al,” Matthew coaxed in a gentle voice. “Just tell us what happened.”

So he did start at the beginning and told them everything, from the phone call from the Queen to coming back and finding Arthur gone, and he handed Matt the note he left behind. 

Matthew sighed as he read the note. “He called the Queen.”

Alfred nodded glumly. “Yeah, I called my boss, and he got another call from the Queen. We’ve been told to back off and call off the security. And apparently Arthur called his embassy and someone came over and picked him up. I called them,” he said, the hurt bleeding through, “but they won’t tell me where he is.”

Francis made a disapproving sound in his throat and got to his feet, walking briskly over to the phone. Alfred heard him dial and then speak rapidly in French as he handed Matthew the folded papers of Arthur’s speech. “Do you know what this is?”

Matthew opened the papers and only glanced at them. “It was Arthur’s speech. The one he wrote for last night,” he elaborated when Alfred stared at him.

“How did you –?”

“He wrote it a few weeks ago. I stopped off to see him when I was coming back from visiting Ludwig, and he asked me to read over it.”

“But that’s not the speech he gave,” Alfred said, a little desperately.

“No, it’s not.” Matthew looked like he was willing Alfred to understand something, and Alfred really, really wanted to understand, but he also didn’t want to be wrong.

Francis dropped the phone back into the cradle with a clatter and turned around. “Please do not be more of an _imbécile_ then you need to be, Alfred,” he said impatiently. “Arthur did not deliver a speech last night; it was a declaration of love. And if you cannot see that, then you are a fool.”

“He – he what?” Alfred felt his heart give a painful squeeze.

“ _Mon Dieu_ ,” Francis said in disgust, “you and Angelterre deserve one another.” He walked over to Alfred and deliberately loomed over him. “His queen was going to forbid him to come, you know.”

“Francis,” Matthew began uneasily.

“ _Non_ , Mathieu, I am tired of this. I have watched this silly dance for decades and as the country of _l’amour_ , it _offends_ me to see such stupidity.”

Alfred shot to his feet. “Hey, who are you calling stupid?”

“You, you stupid boy. You are stupid and _Angleterre_ is…” For a moment he seemed to search for words, finally grabbing a handful of his own hair and giving it a yank in frustration. “The most stubborn, unreasonable, bad-tempered…” The anger seemed to drain out of him suddenly, and he sighed, “…unhappy man I have ever known. Yes, Alfred, his queen wanted to forbid him to come, regardless of the arrangements his government had made. But he persuaded her, because he wanted to do this for you. He knew how important it was to you.”

Alfred stared at him with wide eyes. “I didn’t know.”

“And you would never know, if it had been up to him.” Francis handed him a slip of paper. “He is a creature of habit, our Arthur,” he said in a gentler tone. “This is the hotel he uses when he is in Washington and does not stay with you. I had my embassy call his embassy.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Apparently it is only you his embassy is not allowed to talk to.”

Alfred accepted the paper numbly and sank back into his chair as Francis took his seat beside Matthew. 

“Alfred.” Matthew touched his knee to get his attention. “Are you all right?”

“I didn’t know,” he whispered. “I mean, I didn’t realize at the time. But later, after I walked out and cooled down, I thought that maybe…hoped….” He took a shaky breath. “Arthur said something, he said that we have an ‘unlimited capacity to hurt one another.’ Wow. You have no idea.”

Matthew cocked his head, studying him. “Al, what do _you_ want?” he asked bluntly.

Alfred dropped his head into his hands and gripped his hair. “I didn’t think I had a chance for what I wanted.”

“And now?” Francis asked kindly.

Alfred looked up bleakly. “I still don’t know if I have a chance.”

Matthew smiled. “Only one way to find out. You _are_ a hero, right?”

He wasn’t feeling much like a hero at the moment, but he managed a smile and a thumb’s up. “Yeah. That’s me.”

Francis cleared his throat. “Do not wait too long, Alfred. One of the reasons Arthur stays at this particular hotel is because he likes the bar there.”

“Oh, crap.”

 

Arthur wasn’t in the bar, and it was late, so he should be in his room. Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t drunk off his ass, but Alfred was more worried that he was sick again. He rapped on the door to Arthur’s room, and waited. When there was no answer, he rapped harder and called out, “Arthur, I know you’re in there. Answer the door.” When there was still no response, he sighed. “Okay, I’m going to assume you _can’t_ open the door, so I’m going to break it in. Just giving you fair warning.” He had actually backed up and had his foot raised when the door abruptly opened.

It only opened wide enough for Alfred to see half a pale face and one bleary green eye. And a rather angry looking bruise above that eye. “What do you want, America?”

Alfred found himself staring at that bruise. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay. And I wanted to talk.”

“As you can see, I’m fine,” Arthur said crisply. There was a slightest hesitation, then he added, “And I think we’ve said all we need to say to one another.” He started to close the door, but Alfred quickly put out a hand to stop it, then threw caution to the wind – what else was new? – and pushed his way inside. “America!” Arthur looked furious. “Get out of my room.”

“No. Not until I’m sure you’re okay and not until we talk. We need to clear some things up.” The room was dark, and it was only because Arthur was standing so the light of the hallway illuminated him that Alfred got a good look at him. He was dressed in a loose fitting t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and the air conditioning was apparently on high, which was really unusual given how much Arthur usually hated it. The bruise looked even worse in the light, and Alfred unthinkingly lifted a hand to touch it. “What the hell happened here?”

Arthur flinched away. “Nothing.” When Alfred narrowed his eyes, he flicked his gaze away. “I tripped. It’s nothing to concern yourself with. Now, please leave.”

But when Arthur moved, Alfred saw something he hadn’t noticed before. Behind him, Arthur had his hand on the wall, using it to steady himself, and now that he saw that, Alfred could see him trembling with the effort and noted the fine lines of pain around his eyes. “You’re not fine at all, you idiot,” he said softly and he swooped down, scooping up the smaller nation in his arms. Ignoring the outraged squawks, he carried Arthur over to the bed and gently laid him down. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Arthur hissed up at him.

“Taking care of you,” Alfred said simply. “Just stay there; I’ll be right back.”

He ducked into the bathroom, efficiently wetted a washcloth in cold water, wringing it out so it wasn’t dripping, then went back into the bedroom. Arthur was still lying where he’d put him, but his body was tense and his eyes gleamed in the dark as he watched Alfred’s approach warily. When Alfred sat down on the bed beside him, he started to roll away, apparently intending to get out of bed. But Alfred put a firm hand on his shoulder and rolled him back. “Hey, hey, where do you think you’re going?” Without giving him a chance to answer, Alfred sat up against the headboard and carefully lifted Arthur up enough to rest his head on his thigh.

“Alfred!” Even in the dark room Alfred could see the blush blossom over Arthur’s cheeks. “What are you doing? Stop this!”

“Shh, shh. Just relax.” With Arthur’s head in position, Alfred laid the cold, damp cloth on his forehead. Arthur gave a little gasp, then Alfred felt the sigh of relief leave his body. “That’s better, isn’t it?” he asked, pleased. Arthur didn’t answer, but Alfred suddenly smiled to himself. “Hey, do you remember that time,” he asked conversationally, “when I fell –“

“—out of the apple tree. Trying to put that bird’s nest back in the branches. Of course I do. Always running off, doing things you shouldn’t.”

Alfred chuckled as he patted the cloth flat, delighted that Arthur shared that particular memory with him. “Yeah, that was me. Still is, I guess. I’d never been hurt like that before, and my head felt like it was going to explode. I was so scared, but you carried me into the house, and got a towel you’d dipped into the stream and put it on my forehead, just like this. And you sat with me and told me I was going to be fine and I wasn’t scared anymore.”

After a moment’s silence, Arthur asked somewhat gruffly, “Why on earth did you bring that up?”

“Hmm? Well, it’s a good memory.”

“Cracking your skull open is a good memory?”

“Nooo,” Alfred said, drawing out the word in exaggerated patience. “Knowing I had someone who cared about me is a good memory.”

“You have many people who care for you, America,” England muttered.

“Yeah. But I kind of like that memory.” He moved his hands so the tips of his fingers were resting on Arthur’s temples. When Arthur stiffened, he soothed, “Take it easy. Francis said this helped.”

After a few moments of the light massage, Arthur relaxed slightly. “I assume he’s the one who found out where I was.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t leave a forwarding address, and your people wouldn’t talk to me.”

Arthur said quietly, “I thought we had said all we had to say between us.”

“Well, you would be wrong then,” Alfred said lightly. “I still have things I want to say.” This time Arthur’s body tensed and didn’t relax, but Alfred kept up the soothing massage. “Most of it can wait until tomorrow, when you’re feeling better. But this part can’t.” He moved his hands so they were framing Arthur’s face upside down, his thumbs resting at the corners of Arthur’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did, I’m sorry for what I said, for not listening, and I’m sorry for running away. But I’m back now, and I won’t be running away again, just so you know.” He stroked his thumbs gently over Arthur’s cheeks. “So get some sleep, okay? I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Arthur remained silent, but Alfred held his breath as he felt one of Arthur’s hands grip the material of his pants just below his knee, grasping it tightly in his fist. They stayed like that for some minutes, but then he felt the grip on his pants leg ease as Arthur’s body relaxed and his breath evened out in sleep. Just before he moved his hands away, Alfred felt something wet and warm trickle out of the corner of one of Arthur’s closed eyes, and he gently wiped it away, then leaned over and kissed him lightly on the forehead. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered. “You’ll see. It’s going to be okay.”

 

It took Alfred a long time to fall asleep that night. Once he was sure Arthur was deeply asleep he maneuvered him under the covers and retreated to the other side of the bed, hands under his head, and he thought. That memory of Arthur caring for him when he’d fallen out of the tree had opened up a flood of other memories, happy memories, pre-Revolution memories. They weren’t memories he hauled out very often, if at all. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought about those days, and in a sudden flash of insight, he realized why, even if he hadn’t been consciously aware of it before now: it was too painful for him to remember the way Arthur looked at him back then, the way his eyes lit up, the way he smiled in open delight, the way he laughed. Arthur had been an Empire back then, it was true, but he also seemed genuinely happy in a way Alfred hadn’t seen in a very long time. He really couldn’t remember the last time Arthur had looked at him like he was delighted to see him or given a smile that was just for him. He missed that. He’d missed it for a long time, and he wanted it back, damn it. 

He thought about what Francis had said about Arthur’s speech: a declaration of love. If that was so… He looked over at the sleeping nation and had to lock his fingers together to keep himself from reaching over and running his fingers through those unruly locks. How had it taken him two hundred years to realize what he wanted? Two hundred years of them keeping their distance from each other, even when they came together out of necessity, like two magnets being pushed together and then creating a magnetic field and repelling each other, never able to get any closer. He sighed and closed his eyes, willing sleep to come. He had a lot of work to do, a lot to repair, and he wasn’t at all sure he would succeed, regardless of what Francis and Matthew said. But he was a hero, and he was America, and he didn’t give up without a fight.

Alfred had been scrupulous about staying to his side of the bed during the night, but Arthur had been like a heat-seeking missile, and morning found him wrapped around Alfred, apparently soaking up his body warmth. There was no way Alfred could wriggle out of his grasp without waking him, so he laid quietly and feigned sleep as he felt Arthur stirring. He knew the exact moment Arthur came fully awake and realized where he was: his whole body went stiff and Alfred heard his breath catch. A few moments later Arthur untangled himself with excruciating care, obviously trying not to wake Alfred. There was no movement for a few moments, and Alfred nearly flinched in surprise when he felt a gentle touch to his hair; but he wasn’t the land of Hollywood for nothing, and his acting skills were up to the task. It did take some effort on his part not to lean into the touch, and he mourned the loss when it was withdrawn, but he played his part and finally Arthur left the bed. He heard him rummaging quietly in the bureau drawers, then the bathroom door clicked shut behind him.

Letting out a sigh, Alfred finally opened his eyes and laid there for a few moments, trying to work out how best to play this. Arthur was so skittish at the moment that any wrong move on his part would most likely send him running, so he continued to pretend to be asleep, not wanting Arthur to feel at a disadvantage when he returned. 

When the bathroom door opened, Alfred stirred as if he was just waking up, and stretched, yawning loudly. Arthur froze where he was in mid-step as Alfred blinked (sleepily) at him. “Morning,” Alfred greeted casually, willing Arthur to go with it. _Come on, Arthur. It’s okay. We’re starting over here, so just say good morning…_

Arthur put his stalled foot down on the carpet and continued over to his suitcase. “Good morning, Alfred.”

Alfred cheered internally as he sat up and reached for Texas. Once his glasses were settled on his nose and the room was brought into focus, he looked a little closer at Arthur. He looked a lot better than he had last night, and the bruise on his forehead was all but gone, thanks to the speedy healing of their kind. “You look better,” he observed. “How’re you feeling?”

Arthur busied his hands rearranging his personal items on the top of the bureau. “I feel much better, thank you.”

“Good.” Alfred got out of bed, stretched to work out the kinks, and began backing toward the bathroom and hooking his thumb over his shoulder. “Ah, I’ll just use the facilities.”

“Yes, of course,” Arthur said, still not looking at him, staring intently at the comb on the bureau as if he’d never seen it before.

Alfred stopped just before he reached the bathroom door, chewing his lip. This was way too awkward, and he needed to fix it. “Look,” he began, his voice a little louder than he intended, causing Arthur’s head to snap up, eyes wide. “Sorry,” Alfred said quickly, “didn’t mean to, ah.” He ran a hand through his hair and started again, calmer, quieter. “Arthur, I’d really like you to come back and stay with me at my place. I’ll understand if you don’t want to, but I want you to know, I’d really, really like it if you would,” he said earnestly. Arthur was staring at him, completely still, looking a little hunted. “I mean, you’re going to be here for another week and a half and, it would give us a chance to spend some time together, and I could show you around and stuff, and we could do things. You know. Together.” He lost steam and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I mean, if you want to.”

Alfred could see Arthur take a breath and swallow. “You’d like to…you want to spend time with me?” He sounded so disbelieving, so uncertain, that Alfred had to wrap his arms around his chest so he didn’t walk over and gather the other nation into a comforting hug.

“Well, yeah,” he said, as if they did it all the time, instead of never doing it really. “I would. And I’d kind of like to show you around my town.”

“I see.” Arthur moved the comb a half inch to the right, then dropped his hand to his side. “If you’re certain –“

Alfred nodded. “I am.”

“And you’re sure I wouldn’t be a bother –”

“No more than you ever are,” he said cheerfully, earning him – finally! – a familiar glare. “Besides, if you don’t come back and drink up all that tea I’m just going to have to dump it in the Potomac,” he finished with his brightest, most irritating grin, the one that never failed to provoke a response from England. And it didn’t fail this time. Alfred retreated into the bathroom and after he closed the door, punched the air in victory. _Score!_

 

A week later, as Alfred jumped out of bed at oh-dark-hundred and headed for the shower, he considered the last seven days and felt a sense of accomplishment and a flutter of hope. After they’d left Arthur’s hotel, Alfred suggested they stop for breakfast, his treat. He could tell from the look on Arthur’s face that he expected a breakfast at McDonalds or IHOP, and normally that’s exactly where Alfred would have gone. But Alfred had a plan, and the first step in that plan was taking Arthur somewhere _he_ would enjoy eating, while he was a hero and sacrificed his Egg McMuffin or stack of pancakes. Besides, this was DC with tons of great eating establishments. He stopped at a very nice little café in Georgetown where Arthur was able to get fresh scones and a pot of tea so perfectly prepared that it actually brought a faint smile to his face. 

Since Arthur was the Very Special Guest and Official Representative of the Queen at the Bi-Centennial celebrations, he was obligated to attend them all, but the last few had been more low-key than the first and he wasn’t required to do more than attend and enjoy the entertainment. Alfred had kept a careful eye on him, and although Arthur had retired to bed early with a bad headache one night, and there had been a couple of times he admitted he felt like he was coming down with the flu, he insisted on the whole he was feeling much better. That was a heck of a relief to Alfred, and since he harbored a suspicion that stress might have something to do with the severity of Arthur’s headaches, he was doing his best to keep things stress-free for him.

During the past week, there had been a few more lunches and two dinners out, at places Alfred had chosen with care, and each time Arthur seemed surprised but pleased at the choices. They spent a day touring the Smithsonian museums, and while Alfred would have spent the whole day at the Air and Space Museum if it were his choice, he by-passed it without comment (even though Arthur tentatively asked if he didn’t want to go inside), instead spending time at the museums he knew Arthur would enjoy more. Arthur had been enchanted by the National History Museum, as he knew he would be, and they spent another half day hiking along the C&O Canal, and even did a little kayaking, which Arthur was (un)surprisingly good at. Then there was those tickets to the Kennedy Center that Alfred had jumped through hoops to score; but it had been totally worth it to see Arthur’s face when he told him they were not only going to see Beverly Sills, but that they were going to _meet_ Beverly Sills, someone Alfred knew Arthur greatly admired. Okay, opera wasn’t his thing, and he had dozed off once or twice, but Arthur had a grand time, which had been the whole point. But perhaps the biggest surprise to Alfred was how well they were getting along. Oh, they still argued and bickered and disagreed on most things, but that underlying _bitterness_ that seemed to always be such a part of their exchanges seemed to have disappeared. 

Today would be the real test, Alfred thought as he dried off from his shower. He’d told Arthur he’d planned a surprise and they needed to be dressed and ready to leave by six a.m. Arthur had grumbled that he hated surprises, but Alfred knew he’d be dressed and ready to leave the house on time anyhow. He was a little worried because he thought this would either be a smashing success or a dismal failure, and he really had no idea which it would turn out to be. But he knew in his heart that he had to take some big step, something decisive to take them over that invisible line still between them, and this was what he came up with. 

He gave himself one last look in the mirror, straightened Texas, squared his shoulders, then yanked open the door to his bedroom and strode out. In a few hours, he would know if he’d come up with an awesome surprise or made a terrible mistake.

 

Arthur had probably thought they were going out into the countryside for a picnic – and that would have been a natural assumption with the basket and cooler of food and drinks Alfred had loaded into the trunk of his car – and his face showed his surprise when Alfred drove to the beautiful marina in nearby Alexandria. He stopped the car alongside a slip containing a beautiful sailboat with the name _Sea Maiden_ painted on the side. He switched off the engine and turned to Arthur with a hopeful grin. “Here we are. What do you think?”

Arthur looked at Alfred uncertainly. “It’s a beautiful marina,” he offered.

“What do you think of the boat?”

Arthur let his gaze rest on the beautiful little sailboat in front of them. “She’s lovely,” he said softly. “Quite lovely.”

“She’s ours for the day,” Alfred said cheerfully.

Arthur whipped his head around to stare at Alfred. “I beg your pardon?”

“She belongs to a friend.” _And, fuck yeah, Alfred F. Jones could count the Secretary of the Navy as one of his friends_. “I told him about this sea captain I knew who was about the best that ever sailed the seven seas, and he agreed to let us take her out for the day.”

“Oh, Alfred.” Arthur stared at him, then turned to gaze again at the boat, but not before Alfred saw his eyes light up. Yeah. That’s what he’d been waiting for. But when he turned back to Alfred, he once again looked hesitant. “I didn’t think you particularly enjoyed sailing,” he said, with something like regret.

“Ah. Well.” Alfred gave a little cough and tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel for a moment. This was tricky, but they’d come this far, and he’d decided to be honest from here on out. “It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy it; it was more that I knew I’d never enjoy it as much as you wanted me to,” he admitted with an apologetic shrug. “And I knew I’d never be as good at it as you wanted me to.”

“Oh.” Arthur looked pained at the answer, and turned his head to stare out at the gently rippling waters of the marina. “I’m sorry,” he said finally with a little sigh. “I certainly never meant to ruin your enjoyment of sailing.”

“Hey, did I say that?” Alfred demanded. “All I said was that I didn’t enjoy it as much as you did, and I think you were probably disappointed about that.” He hesitated, then decided to lay out all his cards, adding in a smaller voice, “And I never liked disappointing you.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Arthur’s hands tighten into fists in his lap, then slowly relax. “You know, it took me a long time to understand that the sky is to you what the sea is to me. But I do understand, lad.” Then he smiled, his gaze resting on the sailboat. “Did you say all day?”

“Yep.” Alfred was grinning so hard his face actually hurt.

“Then let’s get moving,” Arthur said briskly, opening the car door. “We’re wasting daylight.”

Alfred had to scramble to keep up with him, and quickly retrieved the food from the trunk and followed him over to the slip where Arthur was efficiently untying the boat. “You know, I still remember some of what you taught me. I’ll bet I remember enough to help.”

Arthur leapt lightly onto the boat, leaving Alfred to trudge up the ramp with the hampers. “Hmm,” Arthur said, a gleam in his eye, “we’ll see about that. Look lively now, lad,” he ordered briskly, standing on the deck and looking out over the water, “and prepare to set sail.” As Alfred took the food down below, he thought all Arthur needed to make the picture complete was his old pirate’s hat and a cutlass. And maybe an Armada to sink.

 

It turned out Alfred didn’t remember the names of anything or the proper terms, but his hands mostly remembered the tasks that needed to be done with Arthur’s prompting. Arthur himself was as light and sure-footed as a cat as he went about putting the boat under sail, his hands deft and experienced, and Alfred had even heard him crooning, “That’s my lovely lass,” when the boat responded efficiently to his commands.

Just as Arthur had come to his realization, Alfred could see for himself that the peace and silence on the water was to Arthur what the solitude of the sky was to him. Alfred took another drink of his Coke and studied the other nation without trying to be obvious about it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Arthur so relaxed, so… _content_. It had been a very long time, a couple of hundred years long time. Oh, he’d seen Arthur relieved and happy, back when they’d celebrated the end of the last war, but back then he’d also been worn through from years of being a besieged nation, of deprivation and fear and fighting for his life. Alfred had been honestly worried about him, and felt sick every time he had seen the wounds and burns that never really seemed to heal. So Arthur had allowed himself some happiness on VE Day, but he had been under too much pressure with rebuilding and too worn out from the years of war to be anything like content. 

Seeing him so relaxed and at home on the deck brought a memory flitting back to Alfred, from one of the times Arthur had taken him to London when he was still a boy.

“ _America, there’s a storm coming. It’s nothing to be afraid of, but the seas are going to be rough and the men are going to be fully occupied with securing the ship. I need you to go to the cabin and remain there_.”

_America could see the huge, black storm clouds coming nearer and felt the ship rock and sway as the waves got rougher. “But I want to stay with you,” he whined._

_“America.” England’s voice took on that tone that meant he wasn’t going to tolerate any disobedience. “It will be far safer for you off the deck. Now do as I say, lad, and no arguments.”_

_Scowling, America turned away, then hesitated and looked back. “It will be all right, won’t it, England? The storm won’t sink the ship, will it?”He’d always seen England as larger than life on land, but on his ship, he could see England was a giant. He strode about his ship with a sense of belonging on the vast, scary ocean in a way that filled America with awe. While England was always treated with respect on land, here on his ship America had the feeling that he had earned the respect of every sailor on his ship, and that respect wasn’t simply given to him because of who he was._

_England, who had turned his attention back to his crew, looked back at Alfred, and his stern features softened. He reached out and ruffled America’s hair. “I would not let anything happen to you, my boy,” he said, smiling that smile he ever gave to America – not even Canada got that smile, not really - the one that made America wriggle with pleasure at the attention. “Now, do as I say, and go to the cabin. I’ll be in when it’s over.” Relieved, America turned back to leave only to hear England add, “And don’t forget to practice your Latin.”_

_America tried to practice his Latin, he really did. But he didn’t like Latin, and the ship was rocking really, really bad, and it was hard to concentrate, and the roar of the wind was scaring him. He stayed in the cabin as long as he could, but finally he wanted what he wanted any time he was scared: England. He crept out of the cabin and made his way toward the deck, hanging onto the rail as the ship tossed and turned. He’d been given the run of the ship when he came on board, and he thought that was because he was big enough now to look after himself, but he soon realized there was always a seaman nearby to keep an eye on him and keep him out of trouble; and because he was afraid of what England might do to anyone who let him get hurt on that ship, he tried to be careful and stay out of trouble._

_There was no one around now to keep an eye on him as he peeked out at the scene on deck. He gasped as he looked around at the controlled chaos; every sailor was hard at his job as the wind and the waves battered the ship, yet no one looked particularly scared, just intent and determined. But what made his breath catch in his chest was the sight of England, bare to the waist, climbing the rigging as the raging sea tossed the ship to and fro. He had a knife clamped in his teeth and his feet were bare to better grip the rigging, as he scrambled up to cut loose a sail that had become stuck. And from the look on his face, he appeared to be having the time of his life. America stayed where he was until he saw England successfully complete his task and then nimbly descend again, and then he went back to his cabin. He wasn’t quite as afraid any longer._

Arthur looked pleased and at ease now as he sat on the deck in these peaceful waters, but he was the same guy who had climbed a rigging barefoot in the worst storm at sea that Alfred had ever experienced – and apparently had fun while doing it. Now he was looking out over the shining water, fully shod, squinting a bit in the sun. Alfred had pressed sunglasses on him, but he’d tucked them into his shirt pocket; apparently they didn’t have sunglasses when he was plundering the seven seas, and he wasn’t going to use them now. He did, however, make use of the sun block Alfred had dropped into his lap earlier, and Alfred was glad of it; he didn’t want to spend the next week listening to Arthur bitch about his sunburn.

“What are you grinning about?”

Alfred startled out of his thoughts and grinned a little more. “Remember that time you took me to London when I was a kid, and we got hit by that awesome storm?”

Arthur frowned for a moment, then his face cleared. “Ah. Yes.” He rubbed the side of his nose. “That was actually quite a bad storm.” He looked over to Alfred, head cocked a bit and a rueful look on his face. “I was afraid you might refuse to set foot on a ship again after that experience.”

“Nah. It wasn’t that bad.” At Arthur’s skeptical look, he shrugged. “I mean, yeah, it was bad, but you told me you wouldn’t let anything happen to me, so I stopped worrying about it.”

Arthur’s mouth opened, then shut with a snap. As he quickly turned back out to stare at the water, Alfred saw his cheeks blossom with crimson that had nothing to do with sunburn. “Well, er, quite,” was all Arthur said.

Alfred hid his grin behind his coke can.

 

The Virginia countryside continued to pass by silently, and Arthur watched it peacefully, occasionally commenting on a landmark he remembered, and he remembered quite a few of them. This was another thing Alfred had worried about; he hadn’t been sure about showing Arthur lots of landscape that he’d essentially owned before he’d been forcibly ejected. But he was starting to think he’d been over thinking things a bit too much. He grinned to himself as he thought of what Arthur’s reaction would be if he announced he’d been _over_ thinking anything.

They hadn’t spoken of anything of particular note since Alfred’s reminiscing about the storm, instead just enjoying the peacefulness of sailing on a beautiful day. But after the sun had begun its slow descent in the sky, Arthur walked over and dropped down beside him. “This was very thoughtful, Alfred,” he said quietly, eyes still scanning the passing countryside. “Thank you. This…this was really quite extraordinary of you.”

Alfred shrugged, but inside he was wriggling with happiness. “I know it’s not the high seas, but I thought you might enjoy it.”

“I did. I am. Very much.” Arthur was sitting right next to him, their thighs brushing, and so they were very close when he turned his head to look at Alfred.

Alfred felt a warmth start in his chest and spread, and at the same time he felt his mouth go dry. Arthur’s entire attention was focused on Alfred, his green eyes thoughtful as they rested on him. Alfred felt a little shiver travel through his body that had no place on a warm July afternoon as he stared back. The silence stretched until he felt desperate to fill it. “I really enjoyed spending time with you,” he said, his voice sounding a little hoarse.

Arthur smiled softly, his green eyes warming in a way that made Alfred’s heart speed up. “As did I.”

They sat there staring at one another, and Alfred could feel something build up between them. There was a look in Arthur’s eyes he couldn’t quite identify – an understanding, an inquiry, a yearning? – and was it his imagination, or was Arthur actually leaning toward him…? Then the peace was broken by the roar of a boat engine as a small yacht filled with laughing people sped past them, waving and laughing. Arthur pulled back as if scalded, his back stiffening, and Alfred cursed viciously in his mind as he forced a smile and waved back at the boaters. 

When they had roared off again, Arthur got fluidly to his feet. “Better get turned around,” he said, sounding reluctant and a little subdued. “We’ll want to get her back before dark.” He moved off to tend to the sail, and Alfred was left mentally smacking himself for missing the moment.

 

Finally, it was the day. The Day. The Day all this celebration had been built around. The Fourth of July. Oh say can you see. Alfred had been out all day, taking care of last minute details and preparations. He had been up early that morning, apparently too excited to stay in bed, and had bounced around the kitchen drinking coffee and shoveling doughnuts into his mouth as Arthur quietly drank his tea and ate his (burnt) toast. 

Tonight was to be a huge outside party with fireworks that would probably be the most spectacular ever seen by man. Arthur was actually quite looking forward to it and had spent the day quietly at Alfred’s house, catching up on his paperwork, and trying not to dwell on the fact that one hundred and ninety-nine times in the past, he’d been forced to take to his bed on this date. That same thought must have been preying on Alfred’s mind as well, because he called Arthur regularly, on flimsy pretenses, to check up on him. Arthur appreciated the gesture, he really did, but after the seventh call of the day, he had firmly told Alfred that he was just as fine as the last time he had called and would be at the party at the designated time, and he would see him there, now please bugger off. Alfred had laughed loudly, told him not to be late, and hung up. But Arthur had heard the relief in his voice. He was no more relieved than Arthur was.

The truth was, he was feeling a lot better than he had expected to feel. He had woken up with a headache, but it was manageable, and he had apparently kept it well hidden from Alfred that morning before the boy left to attend to his duties. All that was left of his headache now was a bit of an irritation behind his eyes. All in all, he counted himself quite lucky, as he had been expecting to be in agony by now.

It was dusk when the driver picked up Arthur and delivered him to the party. It had been a beautiful day and promised to be a beautiful night. The venue along the Potomac was perfectly chosen, and while the decorations were predictably red, white and blue, Arthur had to admit they were quite tasteful. He suspected the First Lady had seen to that. This promised to be a large garden party, and the women were in flowing tea dresses, and the men in casual suits. He himself was dressed in his well-tailored Saville Row weekend jacket, which was a slightly different cut from the other jackets, but would have been quite appropriate at one of the Queen’s garden teas.

 

As he stepped out of the car, Alfred, who must have been watching for him, bounded up, full of grins and happiness and exuberance and was so very much _America_ that Arthur felt a catch in his breath. 

“Arthur!” Alfred waved an arm to encompass everything around them. “What do you think? Isn’t this awesome?”

Arthur couldn’t have stopped his answering grin if he’d wanted to. “It is very much you, America.”

Alfred beamed as if that was the best thing he’d heard all day. “It is, isn’t it?” There were already throngs of people milling around with a low buzz of conversation surrounding them, and Alfred took a step closer and leaned down a little. They were so close Arthur could smell the cologne he was wearing, see the little beads of perspiration that had collected under his fringe, and easily identify the concern in his eyes. “You are feeling okay, right? Because if you’re not –“

“I’m feeling quite well, Alfred.”

Alfred looked relieved. “Good. That’s good.” Then he touched Arthur’s arm, and his fingers seemed to burn right through the sleeve of his jacket. “But if you start to feel sick or anything, you just need to let me know, okay? I can have you back at the house in no time.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Alfred,” he said reassuringly, touched by the concern, “but thank you.”

Again, a bright smile, then Alfred squeezed Arthur’s wrist gently and let his hand drop, standing there awkwardly for a moment. Finally, he cleared his throat and reached into his pocket, carefully pulling out something wrapped in a white cloth. “I have something for you,” he said, not looking at Arthur as he unwrapped it. “The First Lady said you really liked this one rose. It’s a –”

“Queen Elizabeth rose, yes,” he finished in a hushed voice, staring at the beautifully formed bud cradled carefully in Alfred’s large hands. “The White House garden has a particularly beautiful display.”

“Yeah, well, I know how much you like roses, so I asked the gardener if he could find a nice bud and…” Alfred finally raised his eyes to look at him, and Arthur could see his cheeks were crimson. “I thought you might like to wear this.” If anything, his cheeks darkened even more as he held out the flower.

“Oh.” Arthur stared at the delicate bud for a long moment, then looked up and saw the raw uncertainty in Alfred’s eyes. Without hesitation, he took the flower and slipped it into the buttonhole in his jacket lapel, willing his hands not to shake. “Thank you, Alfred,” he murmured. “Yes, I’d like to very much.”

Alfred seemed to relax at that, his smile and energy suddenly returning. “Look, I have to mingle and take care of things, but we’re going to be together for the fireworks, yeah? I’ll find you.”

“I’d like that.”

Alfred nodded as he started to back away. “Okay, then it’s a date. Hey, Mattie’s here, and Francis. And Kiku’s around here somewhere, and Ludwig and Antonio and Feliciano.”

“I’m sure I’ll run into them. Best get on your way, Alfred.”

“Right, right. Oh! I’ve got something special for you at the bar, so when you go over, be sure to tell them who you are.” And Alfred _winked_ at him. “I’ll see you later.” Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Arthur blinked after him, then turned and walked over to where drinks were being dispersed, a slight frown on his face. He’d pretty much avoided all alcohol on this visit, and Alfred had even commented on it at one point. He’d waved it away, giving the excuse that he was afraid alcohol might set off a headache; but the truth was, he didn’t want to risk getting drunk when he and Alfred were apparently getting along so well. He knew very well how he got when he was drunk and he also knew he had a tendency to say things when drunk that he’d sooner cut his tongue out than say when he was sober. So it seemed the best, and safest, decision.

But he approached the bar, and identified himself, mentioning Alfred’s name as well. The young, male bartender, his long hair pulled back neatly and tied in a red, white and blue ribbon, smiled widely at him. “Yes, sir, Mr. Kirkland. Mr. Jones asked us to stock something specially for you. One moment.” He darted off, then returned with a bottle.

“Blimey.” Arthur stared at the familiar brown bottle, then grinned slowly. “Ginger beer.” He leveled a look at the bartender. “I trust that’s not chilled, lad.”

“No, sir. Mr. Jones was quite specific about that. He said room temperature.” He popped the cap and handed it over.

Arthur accepted the bottle with a murmured thanks and took a drink. My god, it had been ages since he’d had ginger beer. The stuff they served in the States that they passed off as ginger ale was nothing but bubbly water. He remembered Alfred trying ginger beer when he was over during the war, and drinking it by the gallon when he could get it. Matthew, of course, had known about it much earlier. Arthur remembered sending him his first case of it when it first started being brewed in England, and Matthew had become quite fond of it. And again it occurred to him what a thoughtful gesture it had been of Alfred to have this here for him; it worked very well as a distraction when he was thoroughly sick of club soda, detested the sweetness of Coke, and might very well have given in to his baser impulses and gone right for the Scotch.

A heavy hand landing on his shoulder from behind made him choke on the burning liquid, and that same hand patted him helpfully on the back. “ _Désolé, Angelterre_ ,” Francis murmured, laughter in his voice. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“Like hell, frog,” Arthur snapped, jabbing an elbow back and smiling in satisfaction at the resulting grunt. He turned around to find Francis and Matthew, both with half-filled wine glasses.

Matthew’s eyes widened as he saw Arthur’s drink. “Ginger beer! I didn’t know they had ginger beer.”

“Alfred has a secret supply. Tell the bartender I sent you.” 

Matthew turned to hurry off to the bar with a wide smile, and Francis grumbled, “That is your influence.”

“So it is,” Arthur smirked, raising his bottle in salute.

Francis took another drink of his wine and turned his attention back to Arthur. “So, _mon ami_ , how are things going with Alfred?”

Arthur’s first inclination was to brush off the question, but on further reflection, he saw that it was a serious question and Francis was watching him with something like concern. He sighed. “It’s going very well actually,” he said finally. “I don’t think we’ve ever gotten along better. At least in the last two hundred years.”

Francis deposited his empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter. “Then that is a good thing,” Francis prompted. Then he frowned slightly, apparently looking for confirmation. “ _Oui_?”

“Yes, of course it’s a good thing,” Arthur said quickly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I have no idea,” Francis answered, looking honestly bewildered. Matthew returned, happily carrying his bottle of ginger beer while Francis leaned in and took a delicate sniff of the rose bud in Arthur’s lapel. “What a lovely rose, _cher_. Wherever did you get it?”

“Oh, Alfred gave it to me.”

Matthew choked on his drink, and smacked himself on the chest as Francis helpfully patted him on the back. “Sorry,” he wheezed, eyes watering, “went down the wrong way.”

“Careful, my boy, no need to drink so fast. Knowing Alfred, he has a whole case of ginger beer stashed away.”

“Right, right.” But Matthew was looking at him oddly as he took another sip of his drink.

“So, _Amerique_ gave you the flower,” Francis said casually, then hummed a little. “And what have you and Alfred been doing for the last week?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but Francis’ face betrayed only bland interest, and Matthew was watching him closely, so he spent a few minutes telling them about the dinners, the quite unexpected but immensely enjoyable evening at The Kennedy Center to see (and meet!) the magnificent Beverly Sills, the museums, and the day spent on the river. 

When he finished, Matthew had a calculating look on his face and Francis cocked his head thoughtfully. “ _Mon Dieu_ ,” he murmured finally, “he has finally done it.”

“Who’s done what?” Arthur asked impatiently. “What are you talking about now?”

Instead of answering, Francis looked at Matthew and said something in rapid French. Matthew glanced at Arthur, then looked back at Francis and said simply, “ _Non_.”

“No, I didn’t think so.”

Arthur glowered at Canada. “I expect that of the frog, but I had thought I brought you up to have better manners than that, Matthew,” he said stiffly.

Matthew laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Please don’t be angry, Arthur. Francis and I just aren’t sure you know what’s going on, that’s all.”

“Going on?” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling like he often did when dealing with Alfred. “Will you two please tell me what you’re talking about?”

Francis laid a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, ignoring the narrowing of his eyes, and laid his other hand dramatically over his own heart. “My dear, _Angleterre_. Dinner at expensive restaurants – not McDonalds – a night at the Kennedy Center, sailing, museums that Alfred would normally have no interest in, special arrangements for you at the bar, _flowers_ …surely even you must see this for what it is?” When Arthur only continued to stare at him in confusion, Francis rolled his eyes. “You are being _courted_.”

“Courted? By whom?” When Francis smacked his shoulder sharply, he suddenly stiffened, his heart all but stopping in his chest. “ _Alfred_?” he whispered hoarsely Francis waggled his eyebrows at him and Arthur looked quickly at Matthew, usually the voice of reason, who only nodded solemnly. He actually took a step back in shock. “But – no, it can’t be. I mean, how can it be?”

This time Francis gripped both his shoulders and looked him directly in the eyes, and there was more understanding there than Arthur had ever expected to see. “It can be so, and it is. I am never wrong about _l’amour_.” He must have felt the tenseness in Arthur’s shoulders, because he squeezed them, then gave him a little shake. “The question is, my dear, what are you going to do about it?”

“I – I –” Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, unsteady breath. “I can’t go through this again, Francis.”

“Go through what?” Francis asked kindly.

Arthur looked at him helplessly. “It took me two hundred years to get his friendship back. I can’t risk losing it again.”

“What makes you think you will?”

“Because I fucked it up the first time,” Arthur said bitterly.

“Ah, but you are older now, wiser, and this is not that time.”

“Arthur.” Arthur snapped his attention to Matthew, surprised by the unexpected sharpness in his tone. “Stop making excuses. If you want this, then do something about it. But if you don’t, then you need to be honest with Alfred, or you _will_ lose him. Maybe for good this time.”

“Ah,” Francis smiled proudly, “you see, that is _my_ influence.” He looked at Arthur a moment longer, then leaned forward, kissing him briefly on each cheek. “Be happy, Arthur. I promise you, it is possible.” Then he turned away and linked his arm through Matthew’s. “Come, Mathieu, we’ve done all we can here. The rest is up to _Angleterre_.”

They disappeared into the milling crowd of people, leaving Arthur standing alone, empty bottle clutched in his hand, more scared than he could remember being in a very long time.

 

Arthur understood stealth. He knew how to hide, knew how to melt into crowds, certainly knew how to keep people away with the power of his glare. He’d spent the last two hours being alone in a crowd, but once darkness fell and an expectant hush settled over the attendees, he knew that time was over.

“Hey, Arthur! It’s time for the fireworks!” Alfred was suddenly in front of him, seemingly appearing out of thin air, bursting with happiness and excitement, blue eyes shining. “We’re going to watch them together, remember?”

Arthur nodded, smiling. “Yes, of course. You said you’d find me.”

“And here I am. Come on, we can go up front.”

Arthur caught his arm as he tried to usher them to the front of the crowd. “Would you mind if we stayed back here?”

Alfred looked surprised, but nodded. “If you want to.”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Nope, I don’t mind.” There was a whistling sound and then a series of bangs. “Hey, look! There they go!” Alfred bounced on his toes as he tilted his face to watch the fireworks overhead. The sky lit up with brightly colored designs, and Arthur knew they would only get bigger, brighter and more elaborate as the evening went on. The temporary lighting also lit Alfred’s face, and Arthur found himself looking at him rather than the fireworks. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It is indeed,” he said softly. Was it really as easy as Francis and Matthew said? Had it all been leading up to this? And was Alfred just waiting for him to realize it, to make a decision, to respond? To fucking get a clue? Or was he in danger of losing everything they’d been so carefully and painstakingly building up between them over the last two weeks? Arthur felt his fingernails digging into his palms. He knew what he wanted, what he had wanted for so long… Fuck it. He couldn’t live with the uncertainty. He had to know.

“Alfred.” Alfred didn’t hear him over the crackling fireworks, and Arthur took a bracing breath and stepped in front of him so he couldn’t ignore him. “ _Alfred_.” When the other nation looked down at him in surprise, Arthur met his eyes steadily and slowly slipped one hand behind Alfred’s neck and grasped the lapel of his jacket with the other. “Alfred,” he said shakily, “if you don’t want this, then in the name of everything you hold dear, tell me now.” Alfred’s eyes were huge behind his lenses, and there was something wild in them, wild and hopeful and… _bloody hell_. All it took was a gentle tug on Alfred’s lapel. In the next instant he found his lips crushed against Alfred’s as strong arms surrounded him and pulled him up against a hard body. 

When they finally broke apart for air, Arthur opened his eyes and saw Alfred’s face practically glowing with happiness. “Finally!” he crowed, punching a fist into the air. “I thought I was going to have to fall out of another tree to get you to look at me again.”

Arthur raised a hand and trailed knuckles gently over that smiling face with something like wonder. “I’m looking at you now, lad.”

He felt rather than heard the breath hitch in Alfred’s chest. Alfred lowered his head and placed a gentle kiss on Arthur’s temple, then pulled him close again and buried his head in his hair. “We’re really doing this, right?” he whispered, a hand running up and down Arthur’s back. “Please tell me we’re really doing this.”

Arthur chuckled a little hysterically against Alfred’s broad chest, one hand clutching the thick hair at the back of his head, the other fisted in the back of his jacket. “I rather think we are.”

Alfred tightened his arms and picked Arthur up off his feet with a whoop. “Best birthday present _ever_.”

 

Alfred walked through the sparkling crowd in the White House ballroom and felt like his feet were barely touching the floor. He was so happy he was positively _bursting_ with it. He thought he was generally a pretty happy guy, but apparently something a little extra showed on his face now, because the First Lady had pulled him aside and commented on it, a little knowing twinkle in her eye. Alfred had fumbled a bit, not sure what she suspected or how much he should say, but he told her that his relationship with Arthur – which in the past had included Arthur’s role as caretaker, mentor, oppressor, enemy, fellow soldier, ally – had finally smoothed out and they had put the unhappy times of the past behind them. She had patted his hand gently and told him how happy she was for them both. Alfred was pretty sure she meant that she was happy for them because they were friends now. But, with the First Lady, he could never be quite sure. 

Regardless, it was all he could do to keep from humming as he nodded to people and chatted with the various guests. Occasionally he would catch Arthur’s eye across the room, and that was when his heart really filled to bursting. Arthur’s eyes would light up and he’d get that smile on his face, the one he’d only ever shown to Alfred in the past, and Alfred knew it was all for him. The best thing, though, was the little blush that would steal over his pale cheeks; it really was the cutest thing Alfred had ever seen, even if he’d never be able to say that out loud. Over the last few days, after they’d both gotten past of the worst of their nervousness at their new relationship, Alfred saw a new contentment in Arthur, a little glow of happiness that hadn’t been there for a long time. Oh, Arthur still scowled and growled and barked and glared; he wouldn’t be Arthur Kirkland if he didn’t, but Alfred suspected much of that was for show now, as if Arthur thought he had a reputation to uphold. That was fine, because Alfred knew the truth.

Arthur was with his queen at the moment. Alfred could see them across the room, Arthur’s back to him, and the Queen, her head tilted a bit in inquiry, talking earnestly to him. As Alfred watched, the back of Arthur’s neck suddenly reddened and his shoulders hunched and stiffened. 

As he was trying to work out what the problem might be he felt a presence by his side.

“Ah, _Amérique_ , a lovely gathering as always.”

“Francis,” he acknowledged absently, still frowning at Arthur’s back.

“Nice to see you too, Al.”

Alfred looked around quickly, grinning. “Hi, Mattie. Talked to the Queen yet?”

“Yes, earlier.” Matthew looked thoughtful. “Looks like Arthur’s getting an earful about something.”

Francis snickered and quickly brought his wineglass to his lips.

“Francis,” Matthew said sternly, “what do you know?”

Alfred looked at Francis and saw that he was gazing across the room at Arthur and the Queen, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, he is definitely getting ‘an earful’, as you say, Mathieu.”

“Is he in trouble?” Alfred asked quickly, a little worried.

“ _Non_ , not at all. His queen is just very…observant.”

“Okay, see, this is why Arthur wants to keep punching you in the face, Francis. Tell me what you know, or _I’ll_ punch you in the face.”

Francis waved the threat aside airily. “It is nothing. I was merely on my way to pay my respects to _Angleterre’s_ queen, when I couldn’t help but overhear part of their conversation.”

“You mean you were eavesdropping,” Alfred translated flatly.

Francis shrugged and took a leisurely sip of his wine. Then he grinned, eyes dancing with merriment. “She told him he was positively _glowing_ with happiness and good health, and she wanted to know what had put that smile on his face.” He looked at Alfred and smirked. “Now, _I_ know what has put that smile on his face, and _you_ know what has put that smile on his face…”

Alfred felt his own face flood with heat. “Oh, crap.” Then he remembered the First Lady and the Queen had spent some time together having what looked like a deep discussion, although for all he knew they have been swapping cake recipes; but looking back on it, he doubted it.

As he watched, Arthur turned around and headed in his direction, his face as red as the back of his neck. Alfred shot a warning look at both Francis and Matthew. “This would be a really good time for the two of you to disappear. And I swear, Francis, if you say one word to him, you’re on your own when he comes after you with a sword.”

Instead of looking worried, an expression of nostalgia settled on Francis’ face. “Ah, _Angleterre_ doesn’t have my reach, but he always made up for that with his speed. And, he cheated.” He smiled the smile of fond memories. “We were very evenly matched in our duels.”

Matthew took Francis’ arm and tugged him away. “Yes, well as much as you two seem to enjoy trying to poke holes into each other with sharp objects, this isn’t the time or the place. We’ll see you later, Alfred.”

Alfred was alone when Arthur walked up to him, panic showing in his eyes. “The Queen wants to see you,” he said without preamble.

Alfred looked up in reflex and saw the Queen giving him a long, discerning look across the room, one elegant eyebrow slightly raised in silent warning. Oh yeah, she had his number. He gave a little nod of acknowledgement and understanding. Message received and understood: _Hurt him and there will be no place on earth you will be able to hide_. Copy that, ma’am. 

“Well, okay then,” he said cheerfully, putting an arm across Arthur’s tense shoulders. 

But Arthur didn’t move. He shuffled his feet and twisted his hands, finally looking up at Alfred. “She wanted to know why I was so _happy_.” He looked like he was choking on the word, and Alfred had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“What did you tell her?”

Arthur slid a covert look at his queen. “She’s quite perceptive, and very persistent. But I told her that you and I had finally gotten things…sorted between us.”

“And you didn’t lie,” Alfred pointed out.

“No, I can’t lie to the queen,” Arthur said miserably. “And then she said she wanted to talk to you.”

Alfred tightened his arm and gave Arthur’s shoulders a squeeze as he nudged him across the floor. “Don’t worry. I won’t really tell her what I did to put that smile on your face.”

Arthur looked up at him, horrified. “I should hope not.”

Alfred waited until they were only feet away from the Queen, then leaned down and whispered, “But just for the record, I plan on doing it again tonight.”

##### End


End file.
